


Swan Song (Part 3)

by earlgreytea68



Series: Swan Song [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-05-30 21:26:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 128,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15105194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/pseuds/earlgreytea68
Summary: In which a tour actually happens! And a documentary gets made! And eventually two determined boys find their way to their HEA.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have to pause to work on a bunch of other stuff for the rest of the summer, which means I have to pause writing this. If you're the type of person who just wants to read this story when it's done, then that's eventually coming, but if you're the type of person who just really wanted to read more Swan Song and didn't want to have to wait many more months, then here's a bit more. 
> 
> SO MANY THANKS to everyone who has said such wonderful things about this story and especially to QueenThayet and swtalmnd, who have written amazing fics for this fic!! And have been so great about Mattrick and so inspiring in their thoughts and they write great songs and great porn and you should check out their fics.

_New York City, the first time_

 

The energetic life of New York City flowed all around their tables on the sidewalk, where the members of Swan and family were in the process of an enormous late breakfast or early lunch.

 

It was really neither, since they’d been up for long enough for it be dinner at this point.

 

Matt was in the wildly good mood that followed a performance, and ordering extravagant amounts of food, and holding court with that high level of energetic enthusiasm that pulled everyone into his orbit.

 

“I still can’t believe you actually did that,” said Kylie, and Patrick had seldom seen her look at him so disbelievingly. “Like, you got up there and you did that. You just, like, sang songs.”

 

“And people _cheered_ for you,” added Miranda, sounding similarly stunned.

 

“This is because you hide your light under a bushel,” Matt said, gesturing to Kylie and Miranda. “That’s why this is happening.”

 

“Oh, is that why?” said Patrick, amused. “I hide my light under a bushel?”

 

“Dad, I always thought you had a light,” said Hailey.

 

“Thank you,” Patrick said.

 

“This is a thing you do,” Matt insisted, off and running on the topic, and there was no dissuading Matt in this sort of mood. “It’s, like, camouflage.”

 

“I did a documentary on camouflage once,” said Anna. “Like, just a short one. It was kind of a practice one.”

 

“Was Patrick in it?” asked Matt, sounding serious.

 

“No,” said Anna, obviously biting down on laughter. “It wasn’t that kind of documentary.”

 

“Because Patrick _camouflages_ ,” said Matt. “The night I met him—the night I met you, do you remember?”

 

“I remember the night we met, yes,” said Patrick.

 

“You looked so boring and dull, I almost left before you sang.”

 

“But you didn’t,” said Patrick.

 

“But I didn’t,” Matt agreed, and waved his hand around Patrick’s face. “ _Camouflage_.”

 

“This is so flattering, Matt, thank you, you should definitely keep talking about this.”

 

“Not everyone needs to strut around like a peacock all the time,” said Carmen, as amused by Matt as the rest of them were.

 

Matt grinned. “But a very pretty peacock.”

 

“Where did you meet my dad?” asked Kylie curiously.

 

And before Patrick could react to head the story off, Matt said, “In a bar. It was an open-mic night. We’d both snuck in on fake IDs.”

 

“Okay,” said Patrick. “Fake IDs are a terrible idea, and Matt’s going to change the subject now.”

 

“It’s not like you _used_ your fake ID,” said Matt. “I mean, other than to get into the bar. Your father literally snuck into a bar entirely to play music. It was the best. I didn’t stand a chance.”

 

Matt said it so casually, so matter-of-factly, like there was no way he could say anything else, and Patrick couldn’t help that he melted a little bit.

 

“Aww,” said Cora. “That’s very sweet.”

 

“Don’t believe anything Matt says after a performance,” said Patrick, which was the opposite of true, you could believe _everything_ Matt said after a performance, but Patrick was also protective of that flailing vulnerability Matt leaked everywhere in this state.

 

Anna and David both gave him an identical Jin look but didn’t call him on the lie.

 

Instead Anna said, “I give him eight hours.”

 

“I was thinking six,” said Patrick.

 

“Should we make it interesting?”

 

“Oh, you want to wager?”

 

“What are you talking about?” Matt asked with a little frown.

 

“How long until you crash,” said David. “I’ll take seven hours. What’s the wager?”

 

“Twenty bucks?” suggested Patrick.

 

“Like we’re _children_?” said Anna.

 

“You should wager some terrible outfit you have to wear onstage,” said Cora.

 

“Oh, excellent idea,” said Anna.

 

“That’s why I married you,” said David.

 

“You’re both going to lose,” Patrick said, shaking his head. “I know him better than you.”

 

“Hang on,” said Matt. “Why would I crash?”

 

“Matt, you always crash, after every show, you ride this adrenaline high—which you’re on right now—and then you crash,” Anna explained patiently. “Every show you do this.”

 

Matt looked at Patrick.

 

Patrick said, “You do. Every show. You know this. You’re so out of it right now that you’ve forgotten that you know this.”

 

“I’m not _out_ of it,” said Matt, and then jabbed an accusatory finger to encompass Patrick and Anna and David and Cora. “All of you are ruining my high.”

 

“I want to go with five hours,” David said. “Can I change my bet to five hours?”

 

Matt rolled his eyes and then said, “Rachel’s looking at her phone,” as if this were a vitally important announcement.

 

“I’m working,” said Rachel, not looking up from her phone. “I’m checking your social media.”

 

“Rachel,” said Matt extravagantly. “We are in one of the best cities in the entire world. In fact, this city is lain out at our _feet_.”

 

“Is it now?” said Anna. “Because right now that only thing at our feet is pavement.”

 

“It’s an _expression_ ,” said Matt. “It’s a romantic expression used by romantic songwriters, Patrick, tell her.”

 

“It’s an expression,” Patrick said obediently.

 

Anna winked at him.

 

Matt said, “City at our feet! What should we do?”

 

“I don’t know about all of you,” said David, “but I think this Jin family portion of Swan is going to go back to the hotel room and sleep.”

 

“ _Sleep_?” said Matt, aghast. “After you just got done mocking me for crashing?”

 

“We weren’t mocking you,” David said. “We speak from love. Who’s paying for this?” David indicated the meal. “Isn’t the rule that the lead singer pays?”

 

“I’ll pay if you’ll come hang out in New York for us,” Matt bargained.

 

“What a hard bargain you drive,” said David wryly. “Cora, what do you say, is it worth a little more time in all this obnoxious company?”

 

“I’d better get used to them sometime,” said Cora.

 

Rachel said, “Well, I’m going to—”

 

“ _Rachel_ ,” said Matt. “It’s very boring of you.”

 

“Yes, Matt, I am very boring, I have heard you the first fifteen times you told me I was very boring.”

 

Matt looked affronted. Patrick sat up a little, because he didn’t want an altercation, especially not in a public place, especially not in a public place where Matt had been calling attention to them by being loud and exuberant.

 

Carmen said, “I’ll go with Rachel and keep her from being too boring,” sounding casual but clearly heading off whatever disagreement might have been brewing.

 

“What are we going to do,” Hailey asked, “with the town at our feet?”

 

“Want to go shopping?” said Matt.

 

***

 

Matt in this mood could tear through anything you put in front of him, and he tore through a series of painfully pretentious hipster shops without batting an eyelash. He was recognized—Patrick knew him well enough to know that he was angling pretty hard to be recognized—and Patrick was going to love him forever no matter what happened in their future, that much Patrick had accepted, but he loved him forever even more for the moment when the store clerk said, “What can we do for you, Mr. Usher?” and Matt said, “What you can do for _me_ is give these three everything they want,” and nudged Kylie and Miranda and Hailey forward.

 

It was an extravagant amount of spoiling but Matt was in an extravagant mood and as usual he was contagious. He was so focused on offering suggestions and critiques—that the girls listened to like they were _valuable_ , whereas Patrick knew if he said a single word the girls would have been horrified—that he didn’t notice when Anna and David and Cora and the kids peeled away.

 

Anna said, when she left, “You’ve got a day ahead of you.”

 

“A good day,” Patrick said.

 

“Yeah. Tell him we kid because we love and he’s great in this mood.”

 

Matt _was_ great in this mood. There were times when Patrick dreaded the crash that followed but he could tell when they had a bad crash coming, when Matt’s mood was edged with a sharpness that needed to be avoided, and Matt’s mood today was as soft and squishy as a teddy bear.

 

Miranda had picked out an all black ensemble with a leather motorcycle jacket heavy with studs and matching boots.

 

“You look like you’re ready to take down the corrupt oligarchy that runs this dystopia,” Matt said. “It’s badass. I approve.”

 

“Do you think Anna would like it?” Miranda asked.

 

“We can ask her,” said Matt.

 

“No, we can’t,” said Patrick. “She left.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

“Because she’s exhausted. We’ve had a long day.”

 

Matt made a dismissive gesture and said, “What do you think about Miranda?”

 

Patrick said, “Oligarchy-taking-down, to be stomped under those magnificent boots.”

 

Kylie and Hailey both picked out dresses, and the store clerk gave Kylie a detailed tutorial on his perfect eyeliner technique, and the girls all looked so grown-up and old that Patrick didn’t understand where the time had gone.

 

Patrick looked at Adam, who had been given a bunch of expensive accessories to distract him, and said, “Where does the time go?”

 

Matt turned down all offers to dress him, but the girls wore their new outfits, as they headed back out into the New York sunshine. It was the full blast of afternoon, and they paused for ice cream, which made the entire shopping trip worth it in Adam’s obvious opinion, and Patrick said, watching the girls walk ahead of them as Matt pushed Adam along, “We’re going to have to go shopping. We haven’t even talked about what we’re wearing.”

 

“I like your t-shirt just fine. I can show appreciation for it later,” said Matt.

 

“No, you can’t, you’re going to be dead to the world later,” said Patrick, amused.

 

Matt looked offended. “I thought we were having—” He lowered his voice. “ _Messy sex_ later. You said we could.”

 

Patrick laughed. “That’s later later. After you sleep. You’re dead on your feet, you just haven’t realized it yet. Anyway, I wasn’t talking about what we’re wearing _now_ , I meant for the concerts in our future.”

 

“Mmm,” said Matt. “I’ll have to get measured for some suits. I don’t have enough to make it through a tour. I’ll have to tell Rachel.”

 

Patrick licked at his ice cream cone and said, “The disheveled suit thing again? Is that what you’re going with?”

 

Matt, somehow balancing his own ice cream cone and the carriage and making it look easy, looked at him. “It’s my thing. Do you think it’s played out?”

 

“No. You’re hot in the disheveled suit and you know it. You wore jeans today, though. You didn’t even bring up having a costume, so to speak. I thought… I thought maybe…” Patrick didn’t want to say, _I thought maybe you were over that impulse to hide behind the fiction of someone else on stage_.

 

Not that that was a secret to Matt. Matt shook his head. “It felt like a one-off to me. Like, that crowd lucked out a little and got more me than is usually on display. I don’t know if I can maintain that past a three-song set.”

 

Patrick nodded, because he got this about Matt. Matt retreated to perform. He had always done that. Not because he disliked performing—quite the opposite, because he loved it for giving him the opportunity not to be himself.  

 

“What will you wear?” Matt asked him.

 

“Well. I always used to wear a pristine suit to counter your state of _deshabille_.”

 

“I know. I remember.”

 

“I don’t know,” Patrick said thoughtfully. “That feels like part of the act we used to do, that we were in opposition to each other. I know it was tongue-in-cheek, but… I don’t know.”

 

“You don’t have to be anything in relation to me,” Matt said. “You can just be you. You should always have just been you. I wish I hadn’t made you feel like you were just my sidekick off in the corner who everyone was defining as not-me.”

 

“You didn’t make me feel that way,” Patrick said to his ice cream cone. “Or, at least, you didn’t do it without a lot of help on my part.”

 

“Yeah,” said Matt, finishing his ice cream cone. “Let’s not do that again. Wear whatever you want.”

 

“I should ask the kids,” said Patrick.

 

“You’ll get three very different opinions,” said Matt. “You have three very different children.” Matt gestured to the trio of them, a few feet in front of them. From the back they had their red hair in common, and that was decidedly it.

 

“Oh, I know,” said Patrick. “Isn’t it great?”

 

“Three very different children who somehow all manage to remind me of you. How’d you pull that off?”

 

“I raised them,” said Patrick drily.

 

Matt laughed. “Okay, fair enough.”

 

“You’re coming down off your high,” Patrick remarked. It was true. Matt was still in a good mood but it was less strident, growing softer and smaller and sweeter.

 

Matt smiled. “Yes.”

 

“You’re going to crash.”

 

“Soon.”

 

Patrick checked his watch for the time.

 

“Show-off,” said Matt. “You’re just a _show-off_.”

 

Patrick laughed and looked at him and…wanted to kiss him. Wanted to stand in the sun on this New York City sidewalk and kiss the smile on Matt’s face. It wasn’t a thing they did, kiss in public, it wasn’t a thing they’d ever done, and suddenly for the first time it occurred to Patrick that they should talk about that. Was their relationship a secret? Should they make some kind of announcement?

 

Patrick felt like this second try at things seemed precious to him, and he didn’t want the rest of the world in it, he wanted most of it to just belong to the two of them. And that, he recalled, was how he’d felt the first time around, too: It was special, it was theirs, why did they need to tell anyone else?

 

Why _did_ they need to tell anyone else?

 

They flirted with each other on stage and people drew their conclusions or they didn’t, and either way Patrick went home with Matt (in good times) and the Mattrick everyone else talked about was only tangential to them, and Patrick had always liked that. Patrick had _wanted_ that.

 

Patrick still might have liked to kiss Matt on a sidewalk in sunshine, though.

 

***

 

“You’re going to tell me I should get along better with Matt,” Rachel said as they walked back to the hotel.

 

“No,” said Carmen. “I’m not.”

 

“He called me ‘boring’ throughout that conversation just for doing my job and—oh. You’re not?”

 

“No.” Carmen shrugged. “I’m going to tell you Matt has a point.”

 

Rachel stopped walking to glare at Carmen. “That’s _worse_.”

 

“We are in one of the best cities in the world. It is at our feet.”

 

“It’s just a city,” said Rachel. “We used to live here. We’ve seen it all. It’s not that big a deal.”  

 

“They’re good,” Carmen said. “Swan. They were really good this morning.”

 

“They were better than good,” Rachel admitted, because they had been. Matt Usher was fucking annoying but Rachel also understood how he’d gotten to be a rock star, because he was undeniably good in front of a crowd, and he and Patrick dripped an easy, casual chemistry that was like catnip. Swan was going to be a fucking goldmine this summer, and Rachel was trying to wrap her mind around it.

 

“How’s their social media?”

 

“It’s off the charts.”

 

“Then, I think you don’t have to work. I think we should do something fun.”

 

“Like what?” asked Rachel suspiciously.

 

Carmen grinned.

 

***

 

Matt was sleepy but at least he wasn’t cranky, which Patrick appreciated, because the rest of his family was decidedly cranky. “ _Everyone_ is taking naps,” Patrick announced when they got back to the suite.

 

“Naps?” said Hailey. “We’re not babies! We’re not Adam!”

 

Adam had fallen asleep in the carriage earlier, so he was already dead to the world. He was the only one Patrick wasn’t having to worry about. “Nevertheless. You can go in your room and stare at the ceiling for all I care, but everyone is laying down, on a bed, now.”

 

“G’night,” Matt yawned, and disappeared into their bedroom.

 

Patrick looked at his daughters. Kylie shrugged, because Kylie was generally okay with extra sleep. Hailey rolled her eyes at him and stomped off. Miranda looked like she didn’t care one way or another, which Patrick appreciated.

 

He settled Adam in his crib and went into his room with Matt, surprised when Matt wasn’t in bed. He could hear the shower running in the en-suite, so apparently that was where Matt had gone.

 

Patrick collapsed back onto the bed, yawning, and closed his eyes and let himself drift. He didn’t feel quite tired enough to fall asleep but he felt pleasantly fatigued, grateful for the comfort of the mattress under him.

 

The shower turned off and after a moment the bathroom door opened and Matt emerged in boxers, pulling a t-shirt over his head as he came, the expanse of his chest disappearing underneath it.

 

“Don’t even ogle,” Matt said, and fell face-down onto the bed next to him. “I’m too tired.”

 

“I know,” said Patrick fondly. “You showered?”

 

“I felt New York-y,” Matt grumbled into his pillow.

 

“Six hours ago this was the best city in the entire world and you had it at your feet,” Patrick pointed out.

 

Matt grunted and pulled the blanket up around him, snuggling into a cocoon. “Well, now I’m tired. I didn’t sleep last night.”

 

“You didn’t sleep?” said Patrick, surprised.

 

Matt’s eyes were already closed. “I had to go be Matt Usher this morning. It’s been a while since I had to be Matt Usher.”

 

“Matt,” said Patrick, because he didn’t know what else to say. Had Matt lain awake all night worrying? “You should have woken me.”

 

“I did. Eventually. Hopefully it was memorable.”

 

Patrick smiled and ran his fingers through Matt’s hair. “It was memorable.”

 

“Anyway,” said Matt, pressing unconsciously into Patrick’s hand, “we were good today. It was good.”

 

“You were fantastic.” Patrick leaned over so he could press a gentle kiss behind Matt’s ear. “Well done, Matt Usher.”

 

Matt smiled. “Thanks for being Mattrick.”

 

“Anytime. Sleep now.”

 

“Mmm,” said Matt, and Patrick kept tracing his fingers through Matt’s hair, watching him sleep next to him. Eventually he pulled out his phone and scrolled through the Mattrick hashtag on Twitter. Lots of chatter about the concert, and a photo of him and Matt on the street in New York after shopping. Matt was saying something to him, his mouth curved into a smile, his head turned toward Patrick next to him, and Patrick was laughing. His gaze was aimed at the sidewalk but it was clear from the photograph that every nerve in his body was really paying attention to Matt.

 

***

 

“This is by far the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done,” Rachel said, from the top of a double-decker tourist bus.

 

Carmen, literally wearing a brand new I Heart New York hat she’d just bought, grinned at her.

 

“We _lived_ here,” Rachel pointed out.

 

“Which means we never let ourselves be tourists here, and that’s a real shame.” Carmen raised her hand to interrupt the tour guide and pointed. “What’s that over there?”

 

“Central Park,” said the tour guide, smile plastered on her face.

 

“Oh, my God,” said Rachel under her breath.

 

“See,” said Carmen. “That’s better.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re _smiling_.”

 

Rachel realized she was.

 

“What did I tell you when I first met you?” asked Carmen.

 

Rachel thought back. “Aren’t you the girl who was just in there playing the piano?”

 

“I said that sometimes doing something ridiculous is the best thing you can do.”

 

“I do not remember you saying that, like, at all,” said Rachel.

 

“Well, I should have. Because it’s true.”

 

Rachel sighed but had to admit that yes, she was still smiling. And it was a glorious day. And it didn’t matter that she’d never had much fun playing music as Swan as clearly had that day. It was _fine_. She didn’t have to think about that right now.

 

“So,” Carmen said to the tour guide, “Central Park’s just a really big park? Is that what it is?”

 

Rachel laughed until she cried.

 

 

 

 

_Boston_

 

Matt was surrounded by fabric samples. Matt could have suffocated in fabric samples.

 

Patrick said, “I legitimately did not know that they made suits in this many different fabrics.”

 

Kylie, who was sitting on the floor in Matt’s office that had also been Anna’s bedroom before she’d decided to get a room in the inn near David and Cora and the kids, gave him a look. “Oh, my God,” she said, and looked at Matt. “Do you see? Do you see how he is?”

 

“It’s very tragic,” Matt agreed absently. He had an entire mosaic of fabric in front of him that he was moving all around.

 

“It’s not tragic,” said Patrick. “I forgot how you can be with clothes,” he said to Matt. Because he had.

 

“Clothes are important,” Matt said. “Clothes are the image you present to the world. You have to be careful with that. You can’t just be _slapdash_ with it.”

 

Kylie nodded in support of Matt’s statement. “What are you going to wear to the concerts?”

 

“I haven’t decided,” Patrick said. “Possibly a t-shirt with some kind of dad joke on it.”

 

Kylie stared at him. “Oh, my _God_. Matt, tell him what a horrible idea that is.”

 

Matt looked up from his fabric samples and said, “No, if that’s what you want, go for it.” Kylie uttered a squeak of betrayal. “I told him he could wear whatever he wanted. He should be able to wear whatever he wants. We should not feel pressured by society to wear certain clothes.”

 

“You just said clothes were your image,” Kylie pointed out.

 

“I never said that I make any sense,” said Matt. “What do you think?” He gestured to the mosaic of fabric samples in front of him.

 

“Are those your choices?” asked Patrick.

 

“One for each concert. Carefully matched to the city. Here’s Boston.” Matt held it up.

 

“Boston’s gray?”

 

“Boston’s _pale pearl fog_.”

 

“Okay,” Patrick agreed.

 

“What do you think, Kylie?” Matt asked.

 

“They’re good choices,” Kylie said. “We did good work here today.”

 

“We did,” Matt agreed.

 

“Can you set the table?” Patrick asked Kylie, because it was her turn and that had been his original reason for coming upstairs.

 

Kylie sighed heavily as she stood. “I can’t wait until we’re living on a tour bus and never have to set tables.”

 

Patrick snorted. “Yeah, when we’re on the tour bus, I’m going to remind you of that statement.”

 

Kylie jogged her way down the stairs, and Patrick looked at Matt, who was carefully stacking the fabric samples in his preferred order.

 

“I really think I might just throw on something random before every concert.”

 

“That’s fine,” Matt said.

 

“You know I’ve never been good at this whole…scene construction thing.”

 

Matt pushed the discarded fabric samples together in an untidy heap and then looked up at Patrick. He was smiling genially and looked relaxed and sincere as he said, “Patrick, I really don’t care. As long as you’re happy. I don’t care.”

 

Patrick looked down at him on the floor and said, “I really should have gotten you a chair at some point.”

 

“Well, now it’s been so long, I wouldn’t even know what to do with a chair,” said Matt, with a little shrug. “If you’ll take a friendly suggestion?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Black jeans. You’re hot in black jeans.”

 

“How would you know?”

 

“You wore them to the Grammys that time, remember? It was Lilah’s idea. I don’t remember anything about that ceremony other than how fucking badly I wanted to get you out of those jeans.”

 

“Christ, I’d forgotten that,” said Patrick. “I mean, not the fuck after those Grammys, that would have been a difficult fuck to forget.”

 

“What a nice compliment, Patrick, you’re so good to me,” said Matt, smiling.

 

“Well, you were good to me that night,” said Patrick, offering a hand to help Matt to stand. “I’m repaying the favor.”

 

“It was the black jeans.”

 

“This makes me think I _shouldn’t_ wear black jeans if we want to play a concert in a respectable, G-rated way.”

 

Matt laughed. “Is that the kind of concert we want to play?”

 

“Dad!” Hailey shouted up the stairs. “Bach tore up all the toilet paper!”

 

“Such rock star lives we lead,” Patrick said to Matt, and turned to shout down to Hailey, “That sounds like something you should clean up.”

 

“Daaaaaaad,” whined Hailey extravagantly.

 

“Christ, she puts me to shame with the whining,” said Matt, impressed, and leaned down to pick up his fabric samples, holding them up to Patrick for review. “There it is. The whole tour. Boston to L.A.”

 

 _L.A._ , thought Patrick, and looked at the pile of fabric. “So when we get to this moon of velvet darkness color—”

 

“That’s navy blue, Patrick.”

 

“What, you’re the only one who can make up ridiculous color names? When we get to the moon of velvet darkness navy blue one, the tour’s over?”

 

“Yes,” said Matt. “It’s sad when you put it that way.”

 

“Don’t be sad,” said Patrick. “We’re just getting started.” He reached out to touch the L.A. navy blue, thinking.

 

“Dad!” Miranda shouted up the stairs. “Hailey is making _more_ of a mess!”

 

“No, I’m not!” Hailey denied swiftly.

 

Patrick sighed and went downstairs.

 

***

 

“Okay,” said Matt at rehearsal, and handed out paper to everyone in their respective places on the stage. “This is my proposed set list.”

 

David said, “Your handwriting is interesting.”

 

Matt said, “Hailey helped me copy it out.”

 

“Looks fine to me,” David said, and shrugged.

 

“You haven’t even had time to read it,” Matt pointed out.

 

“Matt,” said David, “this whole take-the-audience-on-a-journey thing is your deal. I just go where you point me.”

 

“At the end,” Matt said, “we’ll go straight from _Trick Up Your Sleeve_ into _Luck_ , and we’ll let _Luck_ play us out, the way we always used to do.”

 

“Are you staying on stage for _Trick Up Your Sleeve_ or using it for a break?” asked Anna.

 

Matt had thought a great deal about that, and had finally decided he was being ridiculous. He’d stay on stage, and be a grown-up about it, and it would be fine. “I’ll stay. I wrote myself a part for it now, so I might as well stay.”

 

“You could take a break,” Patrick said. “You’re old. You might need a break.”

 

“I’m going to get in better shape,” said Matt.

 

Patrick lifted his eyebrows. “Doing what?”

 

“Running.”

 

Patrick’s eyebrows managed to get even higher on his head.

 

Anna snorted. “You’ll get in shape jumping around on stage every night. That’s the only exercise regime you know.”

 

“How do you know I didn’t go to the gym all the time in L.A.?” Matt demanded.

 

“Did you go to the gym all the time in L.A.?” asked Anna.

 

“No.”

 

Anna laughed.

 

“But the point is I _could_ have,” said Matt.

 

“Not to interrupt this very important conversation about how Matt is never going to go running in his life—” said Patrick.

 

“I am going running _tonight_ ,” said Matt.

 

“—you don’t have _Forever_ on here.” Patrick lifted his copy of the set list.

 

“ _Forever_ ’s not a Swan song.”

 

“Yeah, but it’s yours. No rights to clear or anything. It was a big hit for you. You should sing it.”

 

“Patrick’s right,” said Anna.

 

“The drums are a huge part of that song,” Matt said.

 

“I can learn them,” said Anna. “It’s not a big deal.”

 

Matt looked at Patrick thoughtfully. “Is this because you want a break?”

 

“No,” Patrick said. “Not really. I just… It’s a good song. You should sing it. The fans would enjoy it.”

 

“I’ll sing it if you play it,” Matt decided.

 

Patrick blinked. “What?”

 

“You take the piano part, I’ll sing the song.”

 

Patrick looked confused. “It’s your song, don’t you want it?”

 

Matt shrugged. “You play it well.”

 

“I play it _very_ approximately,” said Patrick.

 

“I bet I can find someone to teach you how to play it less approximately,” Matt said. “I know the guy who wrote it or something like that.”

 

Patrick’s eyes had that assessing look to them, that what-is-Matt-up-to look, but he said, “Okay. I’ll play it. Where do you want it on the set list?”

 

“Well, this list builds,” Anna said. “To the biggest hits.”

 

“Right,” Matt said. “Of course.”

 

“We’re going on a journey,” David intoned meaningfully.

 

“Christ, I said that _once_ , I swear,” grumbled Matt.

 

“I keep a list of all of your most pretentious statements,” said David. “It’s a good list.”  

 

“How long a list is it?” asked Matt suspiciously.

 

Anna and David and Patrick all started laughing hysterically.

 

“That isn’t even _funny_ ,” protested Matt.

 

“Matt, the night I met you, you tried to pick me up with a line from Voltaire,” said Patrick.

 

“Okay, but it worked,” said Matt. “Is it more pretentious to be the one using the Voltaire line, or the one falling for the Voltaire line?”

 

“That question right there is going on my list,” said David.

 

“Fuck you,” said Matt good-naturedly. “Can we get work done now? I don’t want to get in trouble with Rachel tonight, the set list was my homework.”

 

“ _Forever_ should go at the end,” said Anna. “Right around _Trick Up Your Sleeve_.”

 

“Thank you, Anna, you’re my favorite for being the most dedicated to the cause of Swan.”

 

“And that is _also_ going on my list,” said David.

 

“I don’t know about pairing up _Forever_ and _Trick Up Your Sleeve_ ,” said Patrick worriedly. “I…don’t know about that.”

 

“I love the state of denial you’re living in that makes you think everybody doesn’t already know that those two songs are inexorably linked,” said Anna.

 

“Inexorably,” repeated Patrick.

 

“It was on Hailey’s last vocab test of the year. Your kid’s fifth grade doesn’t fuck around, Trick.”

 

“I get that the songs should go together,” said Matt, “but I don’t want to break up _Trick Up Your Sleeve_ into _Luck_. The audience energy is high after _Trick Up Your Sleeve_ , it segues into _Luck_ nicely.”

 

“We can play _Forever_ before then,” said Anna.  

 

“That would be a good progression of energy,” said Matt.

 

“What an excellent journey we will all go on together,” said David.

 

Matt crumpled up his set list and threw it at David’s head.

 

***

 

“What is this that’s happening now?” Patrick asked, when Matt appeared in decidedly dressed-down fashion. Patrick eyed his gym shorts skeptically, because he had never known Matt, ever, not at any age, to wear gym shorts.

 

“I’m going running,” Matt said primly. “I said I would go running.”

 

Summer vacation was in full swing. The kids had spent all day being irresponsible on the beach. They were out on the patio now, playfully disagreeing about something in a way that made Patrick happy, because they weren’t _actually_ disagreeing, and Patrick was happy to cherish those moments. They even seemed to be including Adam in whatever they were doing, because Patrick could hear Adam’s utter delight in being paid attention to. He adored his older sisters and took any scraps they were willing to give him.

 

“I should be back in time to help with dinner,” Matt continued, and then did some ridiculous stretching.

 

“Okay,” said Patrick, “the fact that you’re worried about making sure you’re going to help me with dinner means that now I feel like I shouldn’t make fun of you for this.”

 

Matt glared at him. “I am _absolutely capable_ of going running.”

 

“Yes. Are you bringing your phone with you? You might want to use it to call me to pick you up when you’ve had enough.”

 

“You’re a really bad boyfriend,” Matt informed him.

 

“I’ll change your tune tonight,” Patrick said, amused. “If you’re not too sore to engage in any activities.”

 

“I’m not going to be _sore_. We’ll have totally athletic sex tonight.”

 

“Okay,” said Patrick. “Go for a run.”

 

Patrick followed Matt out onto the patio, where the kids all stopped what they were doing to stare at Matt. They had been training Bach to do something, apparently, because they were clustered around Bach. Adam was standing up, clinging to Kylie’s shoulder where she was kneeling next to him.

 

“What are you doing?” Kylie asked.

 

“Oh!” exclaimed Hailey. “Are you going to paint?”

 

“Paint?” echoed Matt, confused.

 

“You’re wearing painting clothes,” Hailey explained.

 

“These are running clothes.”

 

“Do you run?” asked Miranda. “I’ve never seen you run.”

 

“I don’t just randomly run. I’m going running now. Don’t worry about it, I’m going to be fine. Good-bye,” he said, and then set off at a slow jog, running down to the easier packed sand on the beach.

 

“I give him ten minutes,” said Patrick, and looked at the kids. They had already gone back to whatever they were doing, and Matt was out of the house, and Patrick felt like he had a rare opportunity and he probably ought to capitalize on it.

 

Because he’d been thinking, for a while, that if he got time alone…he should probably call Ashley.

 

Patrick left the kids on the patio and went into the house and picked up his phone and swallowed all his trepidation and dialed Ashley. Then he walked over to the window that looked out over the patio, so he could keep an eye on the kids as he talked.

 

He fully expected to get Ashley’s voicemail but she surprised him by picking up, with a very sullen-sounding “Hello?”

 

“I don’t want to fight,” he said immediately.

 

“Yeah,” Ashley agreed. “That’s not a thing we do, is it, Patrick?”

 

Which was painfully on the money. Patrick hesitated, then said, “Swan is going on tour.”

 

“Oh, yes, I have heard _all_ about it,” Ashley assured him.

 

“We have three dates in L.A. at the end of the tour.”

 

Ashley was silent, so Patrick kept talking.

 

“I haven’t talked to the kids yet about this—and this is entirely the kids’ decision—but if you want to see them, while they’re in L.A., then…you should see them.”

 

“You’re giving me permission?” said Ashley flatly, after another moment of silence.

 

“This is me saying your kids are going to be in the city where you live, and if they want to see you, you should want to see them,” said Patrick evenly. “That’s what I’m doing right now. You don’t have to. We can just move on. But I…” Patrick didn’t know what he wanted to say. _But I don’t want you to feel like I replaced you with Matt_. Although he had. Or _But I’m sorry that I never gave you a chance_. Which was also true. But everything stuck in his throat because he was looking at his kids and maybe he hadn’t done everything right but Ashley should never have punished _them_ for it, and he wasn’t doing a good job of getting over that. He said, “If you want to see to them, I’ll talk to them about it. And if you don’t, then you don’t. Either way. I’m just…” Patrick shrugged, even though Ashley couldn’t see him. He hoped the shrug was audible.

 

Ashley said, on a sigh, “You’re just being Patrick. Making an effort to be fair so you can congratulate yourself on it later.”

 

Patrick didn’t say anything, because there was no point in fighting, and she was probably right about that, too.

 

Ashley said eventually, in a smaller voice than she usually used, “I’d love to see them.”

 

“I’ll talk to them,” Patrick said, and when he ended the call he didn’t actually feel better about the situation about Ashley. He felt like now he just had to have a series of even more awkward conversations. But he probably deserved them, for having avoided awkward conversations for the whole of his marriage.

 

Outside on the patio, Adam, of his own accord, virtually ignored by his sisters, took his first step.

 

Patrick went still, not wanting to startle him or stop the venture. Unfortunately, at just that point, Adam managed to take another wobbly step and then his sisters noticed and then they exploded with joy at him and shouted for Patrick, and Adam, startled, fell to the floor with a plop and Bach came and investigated, sniffing at his face.

 

Patrick went out to the patio and listened to the kids’ dramatic retelling of Adam’s first step, and tried to coax Adam into doing it again, and they were still engaged in that endeavor when Matt returned.

 

Patrick glanced at his watch and said, “Wait a second. You’ve been gone forty minutes.”

 

“I have indeed,” Matt said breezily. “I had such a wonderful run.”

 

“You’re not even sweating,” said Patrick.

 

“Because that’s how in shape I am. I’m in really excellent shape.”

 

“Matt,” said Hailey excitedly, not at all interested in Matt’s obviously fake story of a perfect run. “Adam is walking now!”

 

“Walking!” said Matt. “Well, that is much more exciting than running. Come on, Adam, show me what you got.”

 

Adam stuck his fist in his mouth.

 

“Well,” said Matt, “I’ve seen that trick before.”

 

“He’s being stubborn about it,” said Miranda.

 

“He’ll try it again on his own time,” Patrick said confidently. “You were all also stubborn about walking, in your own ways.”

 

They went back inside the house, and Matt went off to change back into regular clothing, and Patrick convinced the kids to help with dinner prep, and in general the night slipped by as quickly as it always did, overly preoccupied this time with coaxing Adam into walking again.

 

Bedtimes were loose suggestions in the summertime, because Patrick felt like it would be ridiculous of him to be stern about it when they were about to go out on tour, but he did eventually enforce a lights-out policy, aware that the kids would just stay up indefinitely if he didn’t take phones away.

 

He knocked on Kylie’s door during his last check, from behind which light was still spilling and music was playing, relatively softly.

 

“Come in,” she called, and he entered.

 

She was sitting on her bed surrounded by fabric samples she was putting together in some sort of sculptural arrangement.

 

“Are those from Matt?” Patrick asked.

 

“Yes. He said I could have them for art. I’m working on a piece about the superficial masks we all wear.”

 

“Indeed,” said Patrick, and stood awkwardly at the foot of her bed.

 

Kylie gave him a look, an I’m-a-very-busy-teenager-was-there-something-you-wanted? look.

 

“I talked to your mother,” Patrick blurted out. He had really intended to be smoother about this.

 

Kylie went very still on the bed. “What? When? She called? Why didn’t you tell us?”

 

“I called her.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because we’re going to be in L.A. at the end of the summer, and that’s where she lives, and I thought maybe she might want to see all of you.”

 

Kylie’s face was a careful mask. Patrick could read nothing on it. She spoke with a studied neutrality. “I assume she said yes.”

 

“Of course.”

 

Kylie scoffed. “No ‘of course’ about it, she never wanted to see us before. I just assumed she said yes because you wouldn’t be telling me about it otherwise. It’s really easy to draw conclusions about all the things you _don’t_ say, Dad.” Kylie’s tone was scathing, dripping in sarcasm, and Patrick was aware that Kylie was deeply hurt and not at all by anything _he_ had done. “So now we have to go see Mom while we’re in L.A.? We can’t just hang out at Matt’s house with you?”

 

“No,” Patrick said. “You can do whatever you want. That’s why I’m talking to you. You have the option. You’re in control of what you want to do here.”

 

Kylie looked dubious. “Really?”

 

“Really,” said Patrick. “Kylie. Have I ever—ever—in this whole mess—lied to you?”

 

Kylie didn’t answer, but her careful mask of nonchalance had slipped off her face. She looked sad and broken and much, much younger than thirteen. Or maybe she looked thirteen and she usually looked older. Thirteen, after all, was not the terribly advanced age Kylie liked to pretend it was.

 

“You don’t have to make a decision tonight,” Patrick began, after Kylie had been silent a very long time.

 

“Is it a package deal kind of thing?” Kylie asked suddenly. “Like, whatever I decide is what Miranda and Hailey have to do, too?”

 

“No. You’re each going to make your own decision. I’m going to speak to each of you separately.”

 

“But what I do is what they’ll do,” said Kylie fretfully.

 

“Kylie.” Patrick sat on the bed next to her. He hadn’t wanted to crowd her, but she looked so lost and forlorn that he couldn’t bear not to try to provide her some physical comfort. He smoothed a hand over her hair and said, “This is not a decision you’re making as the family caretaker. This is just a decision you’re making for you.”

 

“But I don’t know how to do that anymore!” Kylie cried. “You want me to separate that, but I don’t think I can and I know you blame yourself for that and I wish you wouldn’t because I blame Mom. I entirely blame Mom and I don’t know that I want to see her. I don’t know that I can—but I know that—I—”

 

“Kylie,” Patrick said gently, through Kylie’s rushing torrent of words, and he pulled her into a hug, and she clung to him in a way she hadn’t in years, in a way that reminded him of the way Adam clung when he was truly terrified, instinctive and unabashed. She wasn’t crying but she felt close to it. “Okay,” he murmured, and stroked a hand over her hair and kissed her head. “You don’t have to. Shh. You don’t have to.”

 

He held her until she finished trembling against him, and then he held her for a little while longer, letting her breathing even out against him and stroking her hair.

 

“Please don’t apologize to me, Dad,” she said finally, and her voice was soft but it was steady and collected. “I know you think you should, but you’ve been great. You’ve been so great. I don’t know what I would have done if I had to do this alone.”

 

“Kylie,” Patrick said, and then didn’t say, _You should never have had to think about that, of course I wouldn’t leave you alone_. But she’d had one parent who’d done that to her, and Patrick had spent so much time being so grateful for having Kylie around, he’d never considered that, from her perspective, she was grateful to have _him_. He said instead, “You would’ve been spectacular. But you’re right: You’re not alone. I’m right here. I’m going to stay right here, and I’m going to stay on your side. You don’t have to worry about that. I’m right here, and I’m on your side. Whatever you want to do.”

 

Kylie nodded against him.

 

“Okay,” said Patrick, and kissed the top of her head fiercely. “Are you okay?”

 

Kylie nodded again and straightened away from him.

 

“Your eyeliner’s a mess,” Patrick told her, with a little smile, sweeping her hair out of her eyes for her.

 

“Oh, no,” said Kylie. “It’s so tricky. I don’t know how Dre had his done so perfectly.”

 

“Dre was older than you, so I’m going to guess it was years of practice. You’ll have to keep practicing.”

 

“Yeah,” said Kylie, and then squeezed his hand. “Dad, I’m okay.” She said it fervently, as if begging him to believe her.

 

Patrick said, “Yeah. I know,” even though he wasn’t entirely sure.

 

***

 

Matt was sitting up in bed reading through the lyrics for their set list, because he lived in a state of half-terror that he was going to forget lyrics and the audience would notice right away because the audience knew all of the lyrics.

 

Patrick walked into the bedroom and immediately struck Matt as quiet and pensive. He had no flirtatious banter for Matt, no words at all, as he moved past the bed into the en-suite.

 

 _Huh_ , thought Matt, tilting his head at the closed bathroom door, and then he put his lyrics aside and waited.

 

Patrick emerged eventually, ready for bed, and got into bed beside him, still silent.

 

“Hi,” Matt said, to break the silence.

 

“Hi,” said Patrick, and brushed an unthinking kiss over Matt’s shoulder.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Yeah,” said Patrick.

 

“You don’t seem it,” Matt pointed out.

 

Patrick shifted to meet his gaze. “I think I may have done something magnificently stupid.”

 

“I doubt that,” said Matt. “You almost never do. Tell me what you did.”

 

“I called Ashley.”

 

“Okay,” said Matt, “that _does_ sound magnificently stupid.”

 

Patrick frowned. “We finish the tour in L.A. We do three shows there. Ashley lives in L.A.”

 

“So, what?” asked Matt. “You think we should all meet up for coffee?”

 

“No, I think she should see her kids,” Patrick snapped.

 

Matt, because he would have made a terrible father, hadn’t even _thought_ about that. “Oh,” he said, properly cowed.

 

“Except that I mentioned it to Kylie and Kylie… Kylie basically lost it, to the extent that I’ve ever seen Kylie lose it. Kylie, who’s been cool, calm, and collected this whole time.”

 

“You’ve got to watch out for those cool, calm, and collected types,” Matt noted. “I know from experience that they mean it when they lose it.”

 

Patrick didn’t seem to have heard him. “I didn’t know what to do. I just had no idea what to do.”

 

 _Yeah_ , thought Matt. _Me, either. That’s how we got into this mess_. He said out loud, to clarify, “She doesn’t want to see her mother?”

 

“She blames her.”

 

“Of course she does.”

 

“I never thought about that before.”

 

Matt lifted his eyebrows. “You never thought that your kids would blame their mother for abandoning them?”

 

“I thought… I don’t know.” Patrick looked honestly confused. “I think I was so busy thinking they would blame _me_.”

 

“Blame you? For being the parent who’s around here every day loving them unconditionally? I know you’ve got a lot of guilt for not being perfect, which is a very you thing, and incidentally probably something you can blame _your_ parents for. But yeah, obviously they adore you and are fiercely protective of this little family unit you have. It’s important to them. They can’t feel like it’s being threatened.”

 

“And their mother threatens it?”

 

“Yes. She’s destabilizing. The whole household, I imagine, at one point targeted behavior to her whims, to keep from rocking the boat. Kylie is an emotionally astute and sensitive girl, attuned to other people’s moods, especially their unspoken ones. Kylie probably knew your marriage was over long before you did. She probably doesn’t want to go back to anything near what she’s been through already, and that’s what she associates her mother with.”

 

Patrick was silent for a long moment, looking out toward the window, beyond which Matt could hear the waves dimly crashing.

 

Then he looked back at Matt. “I worry that I’m doing a terrible job.”

 

Matt said honestly, “I think that all of the best parents do.”

 

Patrick, after a moment, said, “Your therapist is really good.”

 

Matt laughed, then said, “In seriousness, though, therapy might be a good idea.”

 

“For Kylie?”

 

“For Kylie. For all of you. Do you know what it is about Kylie?”

 

“Tell me,” said Patrick. “You seem to get her.”

 

“I get her to the same extent that I get you. Which is mostly a decent amount. And she relies on you so, so much. And that terrifies her so she doesn’t talk about it a lot. Therapy might be able to help her with that. Because she’s never going to really talk to _you_ about it.”

 

Patrick’s gaze on Matt was thoughtful, and Matt—because Matt really did _get_ Patrick—knew what he was thinking about, and he selfishly almost wished they were still talking about Ashley. Because Patrick said, “Is that what you think about me? That I’m not good at relying on other people?”

 

“I think you’re an independent person,” said Matt. “I think I didn’t help matters when you fell in love with me and I turned out to be, well, me.”

 

Patrick’s gaze stayed steady and solemn. “I don’t know. I may have lost the knack. I feel like I am relying on you a terrifying amount right now.”

 

Matt looked back at him and said honestly, “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Patrick said, “You said that I let you be you, and it goes both ways: You let me be me. That’s why my kids don’t feel threatened by you, and don’t find you destabilizing, even though you have turned our lives absolutely upside-down. I was always trying to be someone else for Ashley. I think that’s the uncertainty she introduces into their lives. I did a terrible job of it, but… I’m always just me for you.”

 

“That’s how I like you,” said Matt.

 

“Why do you want me to play _Forever_?”

 

Matt answered because he was pretty sure Patrick already knew anyway. “Because I wrote that piano part for you. You were always supposed to be the one playing it. I don’t really want to sing it alone anymore.”

 

Patrick smiled.

 

Matt turned the light off and settled down to face Patrick in bed. “Should I tell you something to lighten the mood?”

 

Patrick chuckled. “Please do.”

 

“I jogged until I was out of sight, then I walked to the street and called an Uber to take me to a bar, where I had a beer, and then I came back.”

 

Patrick, after a moment of silence, began laughing.

 

“I was recognized at the bar,” Matt continued, “so there are photographs, so I wasn’t going to be able to keep it a secret anyway.”

 

Patrick laughed harder.

 

“I tried to pretend I wasn’t Matt Usher, because I was wearing _gym shorts_ and now my image is irreparably ruined,” Matt sighed.

 

Patrick was laughing so hard he was gasping for breath.

 

“So,” Matt said, “you were right, I’m not good at running, I’m going to be in terrible shape for these concerts.”

 

Patrick, still laughing, reached out for Matt and pulled him in and dotted kisses over his face and managed, “How do you even _own_ gym shorts?”

 

“Who knows,” Matt said. “They were probably swag from somewhere.”

 

“And you packed them to come here?”

 

“I love that you think I have any coherence when I pack a bag to go somewhere.”

 

“Oh, Matt,” said Patrick, his breath fully recovered but amusement still in his voice. “Your adrenaline will kick in for the concerts. You’ll be fine.”

 

***

 

Their first full show run-through was a disaster.

 

Matt was well-aware that was all his fault. “Fuck,” he said, out of breath and exhausted, and just let himself sit on the stage. “Fucking fuck, how the fuck did I used to do this?”

 

“My kids are here,” Patrick reminded him.

 

Matt collapsed backward to spread-eagle on the floor.

 

Anna said, “You were twenty years younger, kiddo.”

 

“This sucks,” said Matt.

 

“You should take _Trick Up Your Sleeve_ as a break,” Patrick said. “Get yourself off-stage, catch your breath.”

 

“One song late in the concert isn’t going to help me,” said Matt.

 

“Yeah, but it might give you some energy for _Luck_ ,” said David.

 

“Oh, my God,” groaned Matt, and put his arm over his eyes. “Kill me now, this is all too embarrassing.”

 

“Look,” said Anna kindly, “your part is hard. You’re the one bouncing around out there, and you’re the one who has to have breath control the whole time you’re doing it. It’s okay to be out of shape right now.”

 

“Thank you, Anna.”

 

“You just have to get _in_ shape pretty quickly,” Anna finished.

 

“None of this is going in your Swan true story documentary,” Matt told her darkly.

 

Anna crashed a cymbal at him.

 

Rachel said, from somewhere down near Matt’s feet, “So. In the actual concerts, are we going to—”

 

“Rachel,” said Matt calmly, “so help me, if you say even one critical word right now, I will have to throw some sort of rock star temper tantrum.”

 

“So you want me to lie and say it was great?” said Rachel.

 

“He knows it wasn’t great,” said Patrick, with a protective edge to his voice that Matt appreciated.

 

“I thought it was great,” said Hailey loyally.

 

“Thank you, Hailey,” said Matt. Hailey was the only nice person in the entire world, apparently.

 

“Okay,” said Patrick. “It was a long rehearsal.”

 

“Yeah,” agreed Anna. “I think that we should call it a day. I think we should all go home and relax.”

 

Matt didn’t say anything. Matt huffed out a noncommittal noise and stared up at the ceiling high above his head and wondered why he had ever had this terrible idea.

 

Patrick came to crouch by him, leaning into his line of vision and forcing him to focus on him. _Patrick_ , Matt thought. _Patrick was why you had this terrible idea_.

 

“Matthew,” Patrick said, and tapped Matt’s temple. “Shut this brain off. Don’t listen to it telling you that you can’t do this. Shut it off and come home with us.”

 

Matt said, “That’s not how it works for me.”

 

Patrick said, “I know. But I wanted to just say it out loud for you. You’re fine. You can absolutely do this. Come home.”

 

Matt, after a moment, nodded.

 

***

 

Matt was in an obviously terrible headspace, and Patrick couldn’t even blame him. Maybe sometimes Matt was irrational and held himself and/or others to unreasonable standards, but the full run-through had been brutal, not because Matt hadn’t been in good voice or had forgotten any of the words but because his energy had run down in a way that had been noticeable by the end. And a Matt who was struggling his way through _Luck_ so he could collapse was no fun at all on a song like _Luck_.

 

Patrick sat him at the piano and said, “Play yourself something,” remembering the way Matt had insisted on piano therapy after Patrick’s conversation with Ashley, and Matt started playing the most fucking mournful thing Patrick had ever heard.

 

Patrick sighed and walked outside to the patio, where his kids and Bach were all distributed, and began, “Listen—”

 

And Kylie immediately said, “For God’s sake, _please_ take him out somewhere, this is horrible.”

 

Miranda said, “Will taking him out somewhere help?”

 

Hailey said, “What can we do to make him feel better?”

 

Adam said firmly, “Ma,” because clearly Adam was going to work his way to Matt’s name before Patrick’s.

 

Patrick looked at his worried kids, and he didn’t want his kids falling back into worrying about the happiness of the adults in their lives but also he appreciated that they did care enough about Matt to be worrying about him. He said, “I was going to ask if you would object to hanging out with Anna and David and Cora, if I can bribe them heavily enough to take all of you.”

 

The kids were actually excited about the prospect, because they liked Anna and David and Cora and the Jin kids, so Patrick called Anna to ask if they wouldn’t mind coming over.

 

“You’re offering us your house?” Anna said.

 

“More room to spread out than your hotel rooms,” Patrick pointed out.

 

“But where will you and Matt have sex?” Anna said. “I am willing to offer you the use of my hotel room for you to fuck him out of this.”

 

Patrick, laughing, said, “That’s very generous of you, but I’m taking him out.” And then, with logistics settled, he went back into the house and put his hands on Matt’s tense shoulders and said, “Please stop playing, this is awful.”

 

Matt brought his fingers down hard on the keys and said, “ _This_ is awful, too?”

 

Patrick kissed the top of his head. “We’re going out.”

 

“I don’t want to go out,” said Matt miserably. “I don’t want to go out and get recognized as if I’m still Matt Usher when I’m not at all Matt Usher.”

 

“We’re not going to get recognized,” said Patrick. “You’re going to comb your hair to look like a politician, and I’m going to wear a baseball hat, and we’re not going to be recognized.”

 

“It’s okay,” said Matt. “We can just stay in.”

 

“Matt.” Patrick leaned down and kissed the shell of his ear and then murmured directly into it, “We need to give you something else to think about. Come out with me. I promise I’ll make you feel better. You know I can.”

 

Matt took a deep, unsteady breath. Then he said, “Okay.”

 

***

 

Matt in the passenger seat was clearly trying his hardest to make this a horrible evening, as Patrick drove. “I’m going to be terrible,” he said. “I’m going to be _so_ terrible.”

 

“You’re not.”

 

“You should get yourself a new lead singer. I’m just going to embarrass all of you.”

 

“Stop it,” Patrick said mildly. “We don’t need a new lead singer.”

 

“Why am I a lead singer in the first place?” Matt asked. “I’m a terrible lead singer.”

 

“You’re an excellent lead singer, and you love being a lead singer. All you’ve ever wanted for as long as I’ve known you was to be the lead singer of a band.”

 

Matt appeared to consider this. Then he said, “I also want you. The lead singer thing isn’t _all_ I want.”

 

Patrick hadn’t expected that statement, so it took him a second to respond, and then all he said was, inadequately, “Thanks.”

 

“Mmm,” said Matt, clearly more preoccupied with what a terrible lead singer he was. “I should be more serious about running. I bet that would help.”

 

“I,” Patrick announced confidently, “am not at all worried. You know why?”

 

“Because you always think I’m better at everything than I actually am?”

 

Patrick couldn’t help that he laughed. “Wow, you can tell how deep in self-pity you are right now, because that is the _opposite_ of what you would ordinarily say about me, you would ordinarily say that I’m the one who’s always taking you down a peg.”

 

“Yeah, but you only do that when I’m being obnoxious,” Matt said impatiently. “You never do that when I’m really in a bad place. When I’m really in a bad place, you just say nice things, and that’s annoying.”

 

Which was a very wise observation. “Maybe, but they’re true nice things.”

 

“They’re not true. This isn’t self-pity. This is me being a _realist_.”

 

“Okay,” said Patrick, “can we talk logic?”

 

Matt snorted. “Whatever, Socrates.”

 

“I’m just saying that you have never been good at rehearsals. You need to have an audience. You _perform_ , and it’s no fun performing for no one. You’ll be better with a crowd in front of you. You’ll feed off their energy. I’ve seen you do it.”

 

Matt was silent for a long moment, and Patrick knew he’d made his point. Then Matt said fretfully, “But how do we know if it will be _enough_ energy for me?”

 

“We don’t. But I promise it will be better. I promise you will hit your performance high and you’ll be fine. Now.” Patrick parked the car and turned to look at him. “Want to go into this bar with me?”

 

“I guess,” Matt grumbled, clearly resigned. “Getting drunk seems like as a good a plan as any.”

 

Patrick miraculously found them a tiny table in the bar and stationed Matt at it. “Look slightly less morose. Don’t attract attention. I’ll be back with drinks.”

 

He brought Matt a gin and tonic and a beer for himself and Matt sipped his and said, “Not that this isn’t great fun.”

 

“Isn’t it?” asked Patrick pleasantly.

 

“But we could have saved a lot of money if you’d just bought me some gin on the way home from rehearsal.”

 

“First of all, we’re rich rock star people.”

 

“What’s the second of all?”

 

Patrick looked at his watch. “Should be coming up any minute now.”

 

And right on cue someone hopped onto the bar’s tiny stage and shouted into the microphone, “Thanks for coming out to our open-mic night!”

 

Matt blinked over toward the stage and then back at Patrick. “Did you take me to an open-mic night?”

 

Patrick smiled and sipped his beer.

 

“ _Patrick_.” Matt looked abruptly thoroughly delighted, the worries over the rehearsal chased out of his head. Matt wasn’t always so easy to distract, but Patrick had been pleased with himself for this one. “An open-mic night was our first date.”

 

“No, it’s how we met,” Patrick corrected. “It can’t be a date if no one’s asked anyone out.”

 

Matt ignored him. “You, on that stage,” he said, eyes shining with the reminiscence. “I will never forget that. Christ, I was so blown away by you. I had to have you, I just _had_ to.”

 

“So you went with Voltaire?” said Patrick.

 

“Fuck you, it worked,” said Matt.

 

Which Patrick couldn’t deny.

 

The first person at the mic was strumming a bit on her guitar as she settled in.

 

Patrick said, “Well, don’t fall for any of these acts, okay?”

 

“I make no promises,” said Matt loftily, but he winked at Patrick.

 

***

 

Matt was drunk. Not very, just tipsy, just enough to be warm and fuzzy and, when Patrick parked his car in front of the house, to say, “That was _so good_ , Patrick,” into the skin of Patrick’s neck, and then breathe out, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome,” said Patrick, and didn’t ask if Matt was feeling better, because Matt was clearly feeling better and Patrick didn’t want to remind him that he’d been feeling badly.

 

“You’re the best. I’m very lucky.”

 

“You are,” Patrick agreed affably, “that’s true.”

 

“How about if I blow you?” suggested Matt, his tongue in Patrick’s ear.

 

Patrick laughed. “What an incredibly romantic offer.”

 

“I’m really good at it,” Matt promised earnestly.

 

Patrick laughed again. “I know. We have to go inside and rescue the Jins from our kids.”

 

“You’re so responsible. You make that so hot. Really, fuck you,” Matt sighed.

 

Patrick smiled and ran a hand through Matt’s hair before leaving it resting against the back of his neck. “I’m going to tell you something, and I want that busy brain of yours to take note of it and to repeat it back to you a hundred thousand times. Okay?”

 

Matt nodded, looking somber and serious in the half-light.

 

“You’re amazing. You’re _amazing_. You’re Matt fucking Usher and you’re fantastic at what you do, and you’re going to be amazing this summer. Do you believe me?”

 

Matt looked startlingly sober suddenly. He said, “Honestly? Not really.”

 

“Then I’m going to have to keep saying it,” Patrick decided.

 

Matt smiled, his Patrick-only smile, sweet and lovely. “Let’s go inside,” he said.

 

Patrick got out of the car, and only then did he think: _I called them “our kids.”_

 

***

 

“We can’t have sex tonight,” Patrick announced.

 

Matt, in the process of playing a very important game of solitaire on his phone, looked up in surprise and said, “Okay.”

 

“I’m just saying,” said Patrick.

 

They had a lot of sex, Matt was happy to admit, but they didn’t have sex every night, and Matt really hadn’t been thinking about sex at that particular moment. He’d been thinking about the two of spades he really needed that was hiding somewhere. He said, “Oh, darn, and I wore my finest lingerie tonight.”

 

“Sometimes you seduce me with your wiles,” said Patrick, and dropped onto the bed next to him.

 

Matt, sitting up, looked down at him. “My wiles? Pray tell what those are.”

 

“You know what they are,” Patrick grumbled. His eyes were closed and his red hair was curling at the tips, the way it always did at the end of the day. “They’re you.”

 

“I’m my wiles.”

 

“Your whole package.”

 

“My package,” repeated Matt, growing even more amused.

 

“Not like that kind of package,” said Patrick.

 

“Well, now that kind of package is super-offended,” Matt remarked, putting his phone aside. “You announced you didn’t want to have sex, and then you insulted my package’s wiles, and frankly it may never come out to play again.”

 

Patrick snorted. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to have sex, I said we can’t.”

 

Matt wriggled down to be on Patrick’s level and said, “What’s up with you?”

 

Patrick opened his eyes. “Tomorrow is Father’s Day.”

 

Matt went very still. Father’s Day. A day he had literally willfully forgotten for the entirety of his life. “Oh,” he said, carefully, trying to think of what a normal response to that announcement would be. “Father’s Day.”

 

“Matt,” said Patrick.

 

“Should I have gotten you something? I didn’t even think about it being Father’s Day.”

 

“No,” said Patrick. “You wouldn’t. You hate Father’s Day. I didn’t want to bring it up to you.”

 

“I don’t hate Father’s Day,” Matt denied.

 

“You do. With good reason. It’s fine. But the kids will probably do something for me. I don’t know what. But I want them to have clean sheets and clothed people in this bedroom tomorrow morning.”

 

Matt laid silently next to Patrick and absorbed the impact of Father’s Day and what it meant to people who had fathers. Especially people who had fathers they adored, the way Patrick’s kids adored him.

 

He said suddenly, “Do you want me to sleep somewhere else?” and only after he’d broken the silence did he realize how long he’d been silent for.

 

“Mmm,” said Patrick, sounding half-asleep. “No. It’d be weird. They know you sleep in here. I don’t want them to think there’s anything _wrong_ with you sleeping in here.”

 

“You’re a really great dad, Patrick,” Matt said, because maybe great dads needed to be told that every so often. “You deserve a really great Father’s Day.”

 

Patrick opened his eyes and looked at him and smiled. “That’s sweet of you. Thank you. But I just—”

 

Matt shook his head. “No. You’re a great dad, and that’s not easy, and not everyone bothers to even try, so…own it. Be proud of yourself. You’re a great dad.”

 

And Patrick looked at him with those assessing green-gray eyes but didn’t say anything, just, “Thanks.”

 

***

 

In the morning, as Patrick had suspected they might, the girls brought them breakfast in bed. It was just bowls of cereal and cups of coffee, but still.

 

“Happy Father’s Day!” they chorused upon arrival in the room, and Patrick tried not to think about how much might have been spilled during the implementation of this gift and what the state of the kitchen was. He focused instead on the thoughtfulness of the girls, which was really incredible, because they had coordinated getting up early and doing this for them, and Kylie was even holding Adam so they’d coordinated getting Adam involved, too.

 

“Thank you,” Patrick smiled, and accepted his bowl of cereal and his cup of coffee and four kisses on his cheek (because Adam was not to be left behind when kisses-on-cheeks were happening).

 

“Here, Matt,” the girls said, and handed Matt his cereal and his coffee and his four kisses-on-cheek.

 

Matt looked astonished. Absolutely astonished. His mouth gaped open and he blinked, bleary-eyed, at the cereal in his hand, and his hair was sticking up all over his head, and his jaw was coated with dark stubble that Patrick wanted to rub up against, and he was speechless. Matt Usher was speechless.

 

Patrick would have congratulated his girls, except that he knew why Matt was speechless, and he didn’t want to call attention to it. Maybe Matt had talked through in therapy all his very complicated emotions regarding families, but even so that would never have prepared Matt for suddenly being _part_ of one.

 

So Patrick decided to be distracting and let Matt have his processing time. The girls and Adam and Bach settled on the bed and Patrick said, “How much of a mess is the kitchen?”

 

“Totally not a mess,” said Miranda fervently, which meant it was definitely a mess.

 

“And how do you girls even know how to make coffee?” Patrick asked.

 

“Dad, _everyone_ at school drinks coffee, you’re so ridiculous,” Kylie said, rolling her eyes. “Matt, don’t you think I should drink coffee?”

 

“No, actually,” Matt said, sounding remarkably normal. “I hate coffee. Caffeine is a terrible addiction to give yourself.”

 

“Listen to Matt,” said Patrick. “Matt is very wise.”

 

“Normally you tell us _not_ to listen to Matt,” Hailey pointed out.

 

“You say he gives questionable advice,” Kylie added.

 

“He does,” Patrick said. “This is the rare time he’s right.”

 

“When did you start drinking coffee?” Kylie asked Matt bluntly.

 

“I don’t know,” said Matt. “I can’t remember. Sometime in my distant past.”

 

“He was very old when he started drinking coffee,” Patrick said. “What’s planned for the rest of the day?”

 

“Whatever you want,” said Hailey grandly.

 

“It’s your day,” Kylie agreed.

 

Patrick pretended to consider. “Probably we should spend the day at the beach and then get ice cream.”

 

This earned him grins of approval and Miranda told Adam, “We’ll have ice cream later!” and Adam clapped his hands with glee because glee was infectious to Adam.

 

Patrick, a grin irresistible to him, looked across at Matt, who still looked reflective and thoughtful as he drank his coffee. Patrick turned back to the kids and said, “Okay, if we want a good spot on the beach, then we have get to get our acts together. Off with you.”

 

They didn’t need to be asked twice, scrambling out of the room. Bach followed them because Bach always followed the girls. Adam, finding himself abandoned in the middle of the bed, started crying.

 

“It’s okay,” Patrick assured him, gathering him up. “We’re going to the beach.” He looked back at Matt. “You okay?”

 

“I’m fine,” said Matt, in his not-entirely-fine tone of voice.

 

Patrick considered for a second, then decided not to press. Maybe Matt just needed some time to contemplate the situation.

 

So Patrick slid out of bed with Adam snugly in his arms and then Matt said abruptly, “I just got here.”

 

“What?” Patrick glanced at him.

 

“I literally just got here. I’m…an interloper.”

 

“You’re definitely not an interloper.”

 

“Yes, I am. They barely know me. They don’t even know my middle name.”

 

“Is your middle name a very important thing to know about you?”

 

“It could be,” said Matt.

 

“It’s not.” Patrick leaned over him in the bed, jostling Adam to position him more comfortably, and then gave into temptation and kissed the corner of Matt’s stubble-shadowed mouth. “There was a space for you in this house. We didn’t know it, but it turned out: there you were. You’re not an interloper. You’re Matt. Matthew Jonathan. See, we know your middle name in this house.”

 

Matt looked at him for a very long moment with his wide, dark, soul-deep eyes. And then he said, “I hate to break it to you, but I think I started drinking coffee when I was around Kylie’s age.”

 

Patrick laughed.

 

***

 

The novelty of the bus would doubtless wear off but it definitely wasn’t going to happen during the brief ride to Boston, during which Matt wasn’t sure if the kids ever stopped squealing. But it was good. It was something distracting, which he needed, since there was going to be a concert on the following evening and Matt wasn’t sure he was entirely ready for it.

 

In Boston, they went out to dinner as a cohesive band group, only that encompassed more people than it had in the old days, and Matt tried to eat and mostly just listened to the comforting chatter around him.

 

Much later, in bed, while Matt was laying watching the pattern the passing cars made when their headlights showed through the gap in the curtains, Patrick said, “You know what the huge advantage is of the fact that you insisted we have hotels for almost every night of this tour?”

 

“Shh,” Matt said. “We’re supposed to be sleeping.”

 

“Yes,” Patrick said. “Your very loud thoughts sound very sleepy. So talk to me: do you know the advantage?”

 

“Somewhat less profits from the tour to distribute among us because we’re paying for hotels?” said Matt drily.

 

“No. We’ve got our own bedroom, and enough privacy that I am going to shut your brain up for you, and put you to sleep, all at the same time. Are you ready?”

 

Patrick loomed over him, and Matt wanted to weep with gratitude. “Christ, yes,” he said, “ _do it_.”

 

***

 

Matt woke slowly, feeling fantastic, and spent a little while in bed, basking in the sun streaking brightly through the curtains. He could dimly hear the buzz of voices from the other part of the suite, and he listened to the murmur of it, finding it comforting. He’d woken in silence in many, many hotel rooms. There wasn’t silence anymore. There wasn’t a sleepless night with no one to shut his brain up. There was Patrick, filling in every single patch of emptiness that Matt had been navigating mindlessly around. Matt closed his eyes and listened to the voices and thought of Patrick, beside him at an open-mic night, twenty years after their first one, no longer the intriguing unknown Matt had chased down for a number but so dear and familiar and _known_.

 

And his, really. The end of his name, for all intents and purposes. Mattrick. So much his. And that night Matt was going to get up on a stage in front of a microphone and thousands of people and he wasn’t going to be alone. There would be Anna and there would be David and there would be _Patrick_ , and his easy-going banter, and his harmony on all the refrains. On his right, watching him, counting his breaths.

 

Matt got up to meet the day.

 

The day looked like a tornado had deposited a craft store into the suite’s living area. Adam toddled over to him and Bach came bounding over to bark an explanation of what was going on.

 

Matt picked Adam up automatically as he reached him and said, “What’s all this?”

 

“Arts and crafts,” said Miranda.

 

“ _Art_ ,” corrected Kylie.

 

“We’re making signs,” said Hailey, and held one up.

 

It was a bright yellow posterboard, and on it, in lurid pink sparkles, read “I Heart Swan.”

 

“They’re for the concert,” Hailey explained.

 

“Wow,” said Matt, who didn’t really know what to make of this project. Whose idea had it been? He looked quizzically at Patrick, then said to Hailey, “That’s fantastic.”

 

“We didn’t want you to think that you didn’t have any fans,” Hailey continued. “You totally have fans. But we wanted to make sure you had at least a few signs. Do you feel cheered up?”

 

“The cheering up thing works a lot better when you don’t remind the person of the reason for the cheering up,” remarked Patrick.

 

That basically answered the question of whose idea the signs had been. It did seem to have Patrick’s handiwork, the idea of propping up Matt’s ego.

 

Hailey shrugged, unconcerned.

 

“Well,” said Matt. “I am massively cheered up. Thank you. I’m in a much better mood.”

 

“You’re going to be really great tonight,” Miranda said. “We’re really excited.”

 

“Good. Me, too.” Matt looked at Patrick. “Let’s go out.”

 

“Out where?” asked Patrick.

 

“Boston.” Matt looked at the kids. “Have you ever been?”

 

They shook their heads.

 

“Okay,” Matt said. “Then let’s go out in Boston. Let’s be tourists and enjoy ourselves.”

 

“And not think about the concert tonight?” finished Patrick.

 

“Or at least only think about it every so often,” said Matt.

 

Patrick looked at the girls. “What do you think? Want to see Boston?”

 

They nodded.

 

***

 

Backstage, Anna and David and Cora and all of the kids save Adam were playing some sort of cutthroat Uno game that Patrick suspected was adapted from a drinking game.

 

Adam, sadly, was already asleep in the hotel room, watched over by Mrs. Honeycutt, who had been extraordinarily enthusiastic about the offer to go out on the road with the incredible _Matt Usher_ , and had basically told her husband she was doing it, as far as Patrick could tell.

 

Matt, in his pale pearl fog Boston suit, with a crisp white button-down unbuttoned at the throat and untucked to a perfect level of rumpled, was pacing and singing vocal exercises, warming up his voice, and Patrick was watching him. He was a bundle of nervous energy but it seemed appropriate, like the expected ramping-up of adrenaline before the concert. They had had a good day in Boston, laid-back and leisurely, with a couple of fan encounters that had been warm and low-key. Patrick wasn’t sure he could have special-ordered a more perfect day for Matt in advance of a concert. He was pretty sure Matt felt safe and secure and adored, which was always what Matt was striving for in concert mode.

 

Not to mention that the kids had had a blast because Matt was given to spoiled indulgence and Patrick knew he was inclined to let him and the kids had loved dictating the direction of the day and the food they ought to eat. Patrick was going to have to have a talk with Matt at some point about structure and discipline and how important that was for kids but probably it was pointless to have that talk while the kids were literally on tour with a rock band.

 

Rachel said, suddenly by his side, “How is he?”

 

“He’s good.” Patrick gave her a wary look. “You’re not going to say anything to him, are you?”

 

“I really don’t want to upset him. The better this tour does, the better I do. I’m not _trying_ to upset him.”

 

“It’s just a special talent you have,” said Patrick.

 

“It’s, like, the opposite of your special talent you have with him.”

 

Patrick was startled into laughter. “Okay, yes. Fair enough.”

 

“Has it always been this way?” asked Rachel, and she sounded genuinely curious. “You just…watch him every second, so you know when to move in to calm him down?”

 

Patrick glanced back at Matt and took a deep breath, considering. “No. I mean, there are times when I do exactly the opposite of calm him down. We can be very good at fighting with each other. And, to be totally honest.” Patrick looked back at Rachel. “In the beginning, he was the one who watched me every second.”

 

“You turned out to be not at all what I expected,” remarked Rachel, “but I suppose I can take some credit at bringing back together the most star-crossed lovers in musical history.”

 

“We’re definitely not _that_ ,” said Patrick. “We can’t possibly take that title.”

 

“Is our opening act terrible?” Matt demanded abruptly, striding over to them and swiping a bottle of water off the table where they’d been set up.

 

“Why would I—” Rachel began, and then Patrick watched her take a deep breath and start over. “They’re great. People love them. And they’re huge Swan fans. They were very excited to do this show with you. You didn’t meet them yet?”

 

Matt waved his hand. “No, we met them. They said they were huge Swan fans. I don’t trust them.”

 

“Matt, darling,” said Patrick, “you’re doing your paranoia thing.”

 

“I don’t have a paranoia _thing_ ,” said Matt petulantly.

 

Rachel said, “We’re close to showtime. How do you feel?”

 

“Apparently _paranoid_ ,” said Matt.

 

“He’s fine,” said Patrick.

 

Matt rolled his eyes and drank from his water bottle.

 

“Okay,” said Rachel after a second, “I’m going to go check on the stage progress, I think.”

 

“It’s not paranoia if it’s true,” said Matt, as Rachel happily fled from his mood.

 

“The opening act is lovely. They _are_ big Swan fans.”

 

“How do you know? Did you quiz them?”

 

“They knew the words to _Do It Again_ , which as you know was never a single, so they clearly owned albums.”

 

“Yeah, but that’s an obvious one. If you’re going to know any of our non-single songs, you’re going to know that one.”

 

“Why don’t you come up with a loyalty test and I’ll administer it for you?” said Patrick drily.

 

“After the show,” said Matt distractedly.

 

Patrick laughed, and Matt looked at him blankly.

 

“Matt,” Patrick said. “We’re not giving people _loyalty tests_.”

 

“I don’t think your kids would pass a Swan loyalty test,” remarked Matt.

 

“They wouldn’t,” said Patrick. “You’re going to have to educate them.”

 

“Luckily we have six weeks of Swan education ahead of us.” Matt took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he looked at him, his dark eyes wide and eloquent, in that way they had that Matt hated. He had his sunglasses tucked up on his head, mussing his hair beautifully, so at the moment his eyes were at full power, looking trusting and adoring and a little scared and mostly _enamored_. He said, “I know you’re standing here instead of playing cards with everyone else because you want to make sure I’m okay.”

 

“You’re okay,” Patrick assured him. “You’re great.”

 

“You’re always so worried about making sure I’m okay. I want you to know that I try to count your breaths, too. I don’t think I do as good a job of it, but I wanted to make sure you had a good day, too.”

 

“I had a great day,” Patrick said truthfully.

 

“I am going to say something sappy that we probably shouldn’t repeat to Anna and David. But I never wanted to do this with anyone else but you.”

 

Patrick looked at Matt’s fathomless eyes and thought of Matt saying, _You were my plan for my life_. Matt had meant that, he thought. Matt had meant that in a profoundly heartfelt way. And Patrick had no idea what to say to that.

 

He unexpectedly said the truth. “It was so the same for me that after there was no more you, I took music and I stuck it in a box and I wrote all these commercially successful, completely unemotional business transactions and I made my kids think that was what music _was_. I made _me_ think that. I couldn’t imagine how to do music this way without you.”

 

Matt’s eyes were still wide and eloquent and deep. He said, “How did we fuck it all up so badly?”

 

“We won’t do it again,” Patrick promised him, because he didn’t want to provoke a meltdown right before their first concert.

 

But Matt said, with a steel edge to his voice that Patrick wasn’t sure he’d ever heard before, “No. We won’t.” And Patrick would have said, at one point in their life together, that the only thing he was confident Matt would fight for was his music career. Patrick didn’t think he’d ever seen Matt, charm-less and scheme-less, go to war for _him_.

 

It was startling enough that Patrick just blinked at Matt’s glittering dark eyes and couldn’t think what to say.

 

“Okay,” Rachel said. “It’s time.”

 

Behind them, Patrick was aware of the card game breaking up, of his kids calling to him to wish him luck, but he looked at Matt and said, “Let’s go be Mattrick.”

 

Matt’s smile was blinding.

 

***

 

They assembled on the stage in darkness, as planned. As soon as the lights had gone down, the crowd had roared approval, and that covered their setting up and getting into position, and it also covered Anna counting them in, and when she brought her drumsticks down, Matt heard the crash of Patrick’s piano simultaneously, perfectly done, and he smiled, because he had the _best_ band behind him, he was the luckiest lead singer in the entire world, and the lights came back up and the crowd roared louder.

 

Matt had planned this opening meticulously. Maybe David mocked him for it, but it was true that Matt was passionate about the drama of the concerts, about how they ought to go, since Matt was the one who had to sell it every night, really. So he had planned this opening and made them rehearse it over and over, the way Anna and Patrick would crash in together and then let the crowd swell to fill the silence they left behind, until Matt, in the spotlight on stage, stepped forward to croon, “Wide-eyed.”

 

The crowd recognized the word, as Matt had assumed they would, and he stepped back to allow for cheers and for Anna to crash a bit on her cymbals.  

 

“Tongue-tied,” Matt sang, stepping forward again, raising his voice a little to be heard over the crowd, and Anna played a run in response.

 

“Stupefied!” Matt shouted, because the crowd was loud enough now that a shout was necessary. And then he sang, “Brace yourself, baby, it’s gonna be a wild ride,” and then the song kicked in properly, David’s saxophone with Patrick’s piano on its heels, and Matt grinned at the crowd and readied his fingers on his guitar and sang.

 

And it was fabulous. It was better than fabulous. Matt didn’t have an adjective for it. The song was _phenomenal_. They finished it and the crowd roared and Matt thought, _Oh, you’re totally going to be able to do this_. _The real question is how you spent every day_ not _doing this_.

 

“How are you, Boston!” he shouted at the crowd, and the crowd whistled back at him. “Should I introduce ourselves? Anna Jin keeps our rhythm, David Jin plays an amazing saxophone, he’s Patrick Reed and he does something or other…” Matt, grinning, let the crowd’s cheers take over for a second.

 

And then Patrick’s voice cut in, drily fond, his patented Mattrick tone, and Matt couldn’t help that he smiled sappily at the microphone in front of him as Patrick said, “I play the piano, Matt.”

 

There was a little bit of laughter from the crowd, a ripple of applause.

 

Matt let himself glance over at Patrick, on his right, watching him, counting his breaths. “ _Oh_ ,” he said, allowing one dazzling Patrick-only smile to slide Patrick’s way, because he couldn’t _help_ it, and then he turned back to the crowd and announced solemnly, “Patrick Reed plays the piano, everyone.”

 

Patrick played the opening of _Dirty Water_ , which Matt had not expected.

 

“He plays the piano and he’s a show-off,” Matt told the crowd, who was loving it.

 

“Well, I love that dirty water,” Patrick sang to them, and the crowd shouted back enthusiastically, “Boston, you’re my home!” Patrick grinned over at Matt.

 

Matt said, “Hey, two can play this game: Yankees suck!” and got his own round of applause. He waited for it to die down before saying, “I’m Matt Usher and we are Swan, and we are happy to be here tonight, because you, Boston, are our _virgin audience_. The audience at the Today Show in New York totally doesn’t count.”

 

Which provoked a brief _Yankees suck!_ chant.

 

“So you’re our first,” Matt said. “You know what they say about your first, Patrick?” Matt glanced over at Patrick, grinning wildly. They hadn’t rehearsed this—they never did, because Matt liked the spontaneity, because Matt knew he would never be able to predict what, in the wild heady abandon of a live audience, he wanted to flirt with Patrick over.

 

Patrick looked amused and indulgent behind the piano. He’d worn black jeans, and Matt knew that was for him, and a fairly nondescript white t-shirt, but it worked for him, he looked laidback and casual and not trying too hard, which Matt always worried he looked like.

 

Patrick ruffled at his red hair, leaving it rumpled all over his head, and said thoughtfully, “Hmm. That you never forget them?”

 

“That you should go easy on them if they run out of stamina toward the end and the finish isn’t quite what you might have wanted.”

 

There was a bit of laughter from the crowd.

 

And from Patrick, who replied, “Interesting. I have literally never heard anyone say that about their first.”

 

Matt said, “Oh, so I guess that was just an experience unique to me?”

 

Anna gave him a _badum-tish_ , and Matt said, “Ha,” in response.

 

Patrick said, “But enough about your sexual history,” grinning at the inevitable shouts of protest from the audience. “Shall we play a song?”  

 

Matt said, “You, me, and a scheme,” and then, to applause, they launched into it.

 

***

 

“We are Swan!” Matt shouted over the repeating final lines of _Luck_ they kept playing. “And you’re Boston! And you’ve been amazing! Much better than New York! We’ll see you next time! Thank you so much!”

 

And, because Matt was good at this—because Matt was _incredible_ at this—he timed perfectly his bow to the music cutting out and the lights following.

 

There were massive cheers from the crowd, and Patrick said into the darkness, “Thank you, Boston! Get home safe!” and Matt, exuberant, leaned over him to play the chords to _Heart and Soul_. Patrick grinned and played the top part, turning his head to look at Matt, who was drenched in sweat, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, his eyes fever-bright. He looked on top of the world. Patrick wanted to lean over and lick up his neck.

 

Instead Anna rapped Matt lightly on the back of the head with one of her drumsticks on her way past, saying, “Off the stage, you two.”

 

Matt leaned toward Patrick’s microphone and said, into the final applause that had greeted the _Heart and Soul_ rendition, “That’s really it now. Good night.”

 

And then Matt whirled off-stage. Patrick, feeling reluctant for the experience to be over, played one last glissando before following him off.

 

Where he was immediately engulfed by his girls, chattering enthusiastically.

 

“It was _amazing_ ,” Hailey said. “You were _amazing_.”

 

“That was _so_ much better than I thought it was going to be,” Kylie said.

 

“O ye of little faith,” Patrick chided her.

 

“Well, you’ve never been that cool before,” Kylie said, shrugging.

 

“Am I cool now?”

 

“A little,” Kylie allowed.

 

“Not as cool as Anna,” said Miranda.

 

“Of course not,” said Patrick, glancing at Anna, who looked amused and winked at him. “That would be impossible.”

 

“Anna,” Matt said, all extravagant stage-drunkenness. “You are the best drummer to have ever existed. Have I told you that lately?”

 

“You tell me after every concert,” Anna told him, ruffling his hair and then wrinkling her nose. “God, you’re gross.”

 

Matt ignored her. “David, you are the best saxophone player to have ever existed. Have I told _you_ that?”

 

“Yes,” said David. “Frequently. I worry about what this shows about your limited knowledge of saxophone players.”

 

“Rachel,” said Matt, reaching Rachel in the line. He took both of her hands in his solemnly. “You’re great. You’ve really changed my life. I want to thank you for that.” And then he leaned in for a hug.

 

“Okay,” Rachel said, and looked at Patrick with _help me_ in her eyes.

 

Patrick, grinning, tugged Matt away by a hand in his collar, saying, “You’re very stage-drunk right now. Very performance-high.”

 

“ _Very_ ,” Matt agreed, nodding seriously, and he had a look in his eyes that made Patrick think he had to get them somewhere private because Matt looked ferociously predatory and ready to pounce and Patrick wasn’t opposed to that as long as they weren’t in public.

 

“Take him home,” Anna said, yawning. “Well done, kiddo. See you tomorrow.”

 

“That’s it?” Matt protested. “You’re just _going_?”

 

“We’re doing this nineteen more times, Matt,” David said. “You can’t use all your energy up the first night.”

 

“My energy is a renewable resource,” Matt asserted.

 

“It was great,” Cora said, smiling at him. “You were great. But it is way past bedtimes.”

 

“Are we going to bed?” Hailey asked Patrick.

 

“Patrick,” Matt exhorted him, “never tell me that you are going to make all of us go to _bed_. After our _night of triumph_.”

 

“Let’s go back to the hotel,” Patrick said indulgently, and almost had them out the door when the opening act arrived, full of puppy-dog praise that Matt accepted with equanimity, as if it was only his due, and said, when they were in the car on the way to the hotel, “I like the opening act. They’re good people.”

 

“Because they fell all over you fawning,” said Patrick, amused.

 

Matt shrugged. “They have good taste. Reed progeny,” he said grandly, turning to the girls. “Tell me what you thought of the concert.”

 

It was a cacophony of discussion, of _the part where_ and _when you did this_ and _then after that_. Patrick couldn’t keep track and he didn’t really want to. Patrick had never equaled Matt for a high after a performance because Patrick was pretty sure his adrenaline levels never hit the stratosphere that Matt worked himself into as the front man. But Patrick did experience a buzz of pure joy in the aftermath of a good performance, and it was _better_ now because his kids were there, and it was _best_ because things were going well with Matt, too. There were performances when things weren’t going well with Matt, when Matt’s surfeit of energy after a concert had devolved into snarling fights, when Matt would abandon Patrick for a club somewhere, anywhere, where people would buy him endless drinks and make much of him in the way that Matt had accused Patrick of failing to do. The bitter taste of those memories had been vivid for Patrick but they seemed very distant now, when Matt’s gregariousness was directed toward Patrick’s kids and seemed as disarming as Patrick had always found it at first, before things had gone wrong.

 

Patrick watched Matt with his kids, making each other laugh in their babble of excitement, and thought he was impossibly lucky to have stumbled into this particular life-path.

 

Mrs. Honeycutt said, “So? How was the concert?”

 

Matt launched into a flowery, blow-by-blow account that Patrick had to interrupt to say, “How was Adam?”

 

“Oh, an angel,” Mrs. Honeycutt said. “Sound asleep.”

 

“And then,” Matt continued, “Anna kicked in with the drums to start _Forever_ and—”

 

“Oh, are you playing _Forever_ on the tour?” said Mrs. Honeycutt, plainly enraptured.

 

“We really _must_ get you a night off so you can see the concert,” Matt promised her.

 

“Okay,” said Patrick. “We’ll do that. In the meantime, Matt needs to take a shower.”

 

“I don’t mind,” said Mrs. Honeycutt. “He’s not disgusting at all.”

 

“Good night, Mrs. Honeycutt,” Patrick said firmly, trying to gain some control of the situation.

 

He got Mrs. Honeycutt out of the suite, but Matt commanded, “Do _not_ put anyone to bed,” before disappearing into their bedroom and hopefully from there to the bathroom and the shower.  

 

“You heard him,” Miranda said, and dropped onto the couch, looking very wide awake.

 

“Matt doesn’t suddenly dictate bedtime rules.”

 

“I think tonight he does,” said Kylie knowingly, and Patrick thought of Matt’s assessment of Kylie’s emotional astuteness. She definitely had some understanding of how much Patrick was inclined to spoil Matt.

 

“Well,” Patrick allowed, “tonight was a special night, for all of us. I guess we can stay up a little while longer.”

 

Miranda and Hailey cheered. Kylie took out her phone, presumably to cheer via text, the only way a teenager could cheer these days, in Patrick’s experience.

 

Patrick checked on the baby, who was indeed sound asleep, and when he got back from that Matt was already out of the shower, dressed in artfully distressed clothing.

 

“That was a lightning-fast shower,” Patrick remarked.

 

“Your turn,” Matt said with a grin.

 

Patrick took his own lightning-fast shower and then reemerged back into the suit into the middle of a dance party. Patrick stood and watched, as Matt and the girls bounced energetically around each other, off of couches, over coffee tables. It was absurd and he needed to stop it and also he understood that Matt’s energy was infectious.

 

“Taylor Swift?” he said finally. “Really?”

 

“Haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate,” Matt sang to him, dancing over to him.

 

“Rest your voice,” Patrick told him. “You’ve been singing all night.”

 

“Come dance,” Matt said, grabbing his hand and tugging him into the middle of the fray.

 

“People are going to call security on us,” Patrick said. “Do you know what time it is?”

 

“Oh, my God, _Patrick_ ,” said Matt, and did some kind of ridiculous half-twirl around his body that resulted in Matt stumbling over the coffee table.

 

“And this would be why we don’t do choreography,” Patrick remarked, steadying Matt.

 

“Dad,” Miranda said, doing a dramatic marching step off one of the couches, “Matt warned us that you would be boring about this.”

 

Patrick looked at Matt. “You told them I would be boring?”

 

“You’re a little boring,” Matt said, still dancing around him. “Don’t worry, I love you for it, but you’re not a dance party sort of guy. Look, you still haven’t danced with me.”

 

“You think I can’t dance?” said Patrick, deciding to take the bait, and reached out to pull Matt in and then around quickly, into a mock tango that he ended by dipping Matt toward the ground.

 

Hailey clapped in appreciation.

 

Kylie said, “Was that supposed to be a tango?”

 

Matt was laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe, his hands caught into Patrick’s hair to keep from tumbling entirely over. His eyes looked bright and delighted, his smile happy and open, and Patrick looked at him and thought, _I_ love _him like this_ , as he straightened up with him.

 

And then there was a knock on the door.

 

“See?” Patrick said. “Security. I told you.”

 

“Don’t get too comfortable with your smugness,” Matt informed him, drawing a fingertip down Patrick’s nose. “Because that is definitely not security.”

 

Matt bounced his way over to the door and opened it on a room service delivery.

 

Patrick lifted his eyebrows and regarded the delivery, which the girls fell upon as if they had been starving. Then he looked at Matt. “Did you order popcorn _and_ ice cream?”

 

“We couldn’t decide between sweet and savory and, like, eventually we didn’t know why we were even trying to decide,” explained Matt.

 

“I was in the shower for a grand total of basically two minutes,” Patrick pointed out.

 

“Long enough for us to have a sweet versus savory debate,” replied Matt, shrugging.

 

“I mean.” Patrick looked helplessly at his girls and wanted to be authoritative and draw the line at unhealthy midnight snacking but also it felt like the kind of night when popcorn and ice cream was deserved. How much harm could the treat really do? “Do you know what time it is?” he asked half-heartedly.

 

“Patrick,” said Matt, and danced over to him on the beat of the next song that had come on, which happened to be _Hey Ya!_ He took Patrick’s hand, and Patrick thought that he was going to say something, and then he seemed to change his mind, and instead he just leaned over to kiss Patrick instead. It was short and sweet, not at all inappropriate, really just a peck on his lips, and then Matt was gone, saying, “Come and have some food.”

 

But Patrick was frozen into place, thinking of how Matt had just kissed him, just like that, right there in front of the kids.

 

Who were apparently completely unfazed by it and had now opened up a debate about chocolate versus vanilla which Matt was happily taking part in.

 

Patrick went for popcorn and let them debate whatever things they wanted to debate, until Hailey was yawning and Miranda was drooping and even Kylie was rubbing her eyes.

 

“Okay,” Patrick said. “It’s well after midnight, everyone’s turning into pumpkins and going to bed.”

 

“That’s not how Cinderella works,” Hailey complained to him.

 

“Say good night to Matt,” Patrick said, shepherding them off to their rooms.

 

He checked on Adam one more time—still sound asleep—before heading to his own bedroom, where he was greeted by Matt pulling him into the room and shoving him down onto the bed and climbing onto him.

 

“Patrick Reed,” Matt said, grinning down at him. “You know what they say about your first?”

 

Patrick wasn’t as a technical matter Matt’s _first_ first. But he _had_ been Matt’s first lover-with-a-penis. “You never forget them,” Patrick said.

 

“Never,” said Matt. “It’s fucking annoying. They’ve got such fucking staying power, fuck you. I looked all over for someone who would make me forget you and I never found anyone.”

 

“I went looking for different genitalia altogether,” said Patrick, carding his fingers through Matt’s hair.

 

Matt laughed, and then said, “You were so good tonight. You were _so good_. I just wanted to tackle you at that piano, kiss that fucking smirk off your face.”

 

“I don’t smirk.”

 

“You smirk on stage. You do it all the time. It’s so fucking hot, I can’t stand it. You’re just _so good_.”

 

“You’re better,” Patrick said.

 

Matt shook his head. “Smoke and mirrors.”

 

“No, you’re better. You stood up there on that stage tonight and you…” Patrick trailed off, looking up at Matt, who was still fever-bright with his high, impossibly attractive, and there, in his bed, unquestionably _Patrick’s_. And it suddenly slammed into Patrick, the full dizzying import of that.

 

“What?” Matt said.

 

Patrick flipped them, spreading Matt underneath him like a feast, and Patrick had been content to let Matt take the upper hand but suddenly all Patrick wanted to do was devour, just _devour_ him. “You were dazzling tonight,” Patrick said, his voice pitched low and urgent, and Matt shivered underneath him, his eyes wide and dark and liquid on his. “You were fucking incandescent, and every single person in the audience wanted you. Every single one. You could have anyone you wanted tonight.”

 

“I don’t want anyone else,” Matt managed, short of breath.

 

“You want me,” said Patrick, confident and sure. He’d forgotten how heady that felt, to look at the man you knew everyone else would have fallen over to get near and know that the only person whose hands he wanted on him was _you_.

 

“I want you,” agreed Matt, straining upward for a kiss that Patrick dodged.

 

“You’d let me do anything I want to you,” Patrick murmured, nosing behind Matt’s ear, fishing for a telltale babble that would indicate Matt had slipped out of his tight-fisted control over himself.

 

He got it.

 

“Fuck, anything, anything, you know I would, Patrick, there was never anyone else, never, no one else touches me like you or _smiles_ at me like you and I love the way you make me feel and you can have anything, Patrick, Patrick, please, _please_.”

 

Patrick rubbed his nose against Matt’s, as Matt gasped and squirmed underneath him. “What are you asking me for?”

 

“You,” said Matt, and Patrick kissed him, and Matt sobbed into it, and Patrick kissed him more and more, and Matt kept saying, “You, you, I want _you_ ,” around Patrick’s kisses, and Patrick gave him what he wanted.

 

***

 

Matt’s performance high was a dependable thing. It never failed him. It showed up whenever he performed, whether Patrick was nearby or not.

 

But when Patrick wasn’t nearby, Matt found his performance high almost unbearable. It was an excess of energy with no outlet, nowhere to direct it, or, more accurately, to be directed, to be channeled. Matt would feel eventually like he was buzzing out of control, bouncing off of walls, and the crash, when it came, would be unpleasantly and sickly.

 

Matt, in this state, had naturally tried sex before with other people, and the problem was that people who weren’t Patrick tended to treat him with astonished awe in bed. Matt always felt a little like he ought to be posing for selfies instead of giving head. People who weren’t Patrick were people who wanted to be able to say that they’d been fucked by Matt Usher. Patrick, though—Patrick just _fucked Matt Usher_.

 

And it was _glorious_. It was _divine_. It was a starburst of an orgasm, a radiating outward of all of the restless energy vibrating inside of Matt, and when he drifted down from it, his buzz from the concert had reached a bearable pitch, kind of like a purr inside his head, a feeling of warm, deep contentment that Matt wanted to fold up and carry with him in his pocket for whenever he needed a pick-me-up.

 

Matt, yawning enormously, let Patrick handle clean-up, and when Patrick settled into bed next to him, he rolled toward him and said muzzily, “It was good for me, was it good for you?”

 

Patrick’s hand reached out to stroke over Matt’s hair, down his back, and Matt smiled against his pillow, as his happiness purred inside of him. “You don’t even know the things I can get you to say to me,” Patrick said, sounding both fond and rueful. “It’s unfair to you. I shouldn’t do that to you.”

 

“Mmm,” said Matt, and attempted a shrug. “I don’t mind. What do I say? Good things?”

 

“You say really incredible things about me,” said Patrick.

 

“Oh, good,” said Matt. “Then I mean every word.”

 

Matt was jostled by Patrick pulling him up against him and hugging him tightly, burying his nose into Matt’s hair. Matt was mostly out of it but even he could hear that Patrick’s voice was unsteady when he said, “God, when you’re _like_ this, I can’t… I can’t _deal_.”

 

“That sounds good,” Matt said, half-crushed by Patrick’s embrace. “I’ll try to stay like this, then.”

 

“Go to sleep,” Patrick said, and Matt felt him brush kisses over his hair. “Go to sleep, and come down off this high gently, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

“Uh-huh,” said Matt, and fell asleep.

 

***

 

_New York, the second time_

 

It took Patrick forever to fall asleep. He laid awake for a long time, watching Matt sleeping beside him, snoring softly. His face was mostly mashed into the pillow, so Patrick couldn’t see much of it, but it didn’t matter, because what Patrick could see was so dear and beloved that it made him hurt to look at it. And to think of how much time they had wasted. They had needed time apart—they were so much better now than they had been—but Patrick wished it hadn’t been fifteen years.

 

Patrick woke without feeling like he had slept, to the sound of Adam calling for him. Crack of dawn, Patrick could see. Right on time.

 

He glanced at Matt, still sound asleep in the same position, then gathered clothes and changed hastily before grabbing Adam.

 

Adam was delighted to see him and said “Da, Da, Da,” in repetition, a new trick that Patrick hadn’t had time to resist melting over yet. Adam grabbed him, tight and close, for a lovely hug, and Patrick said guiltily, “Did you miss me last night? Sorry, love. Let’s make up for it this morning.”

 

So he got Adam dressed and then they went out together with Bach.

 

Boston was still sleepy and mostly silent. Because there weren’t many people out and about, Patrick let Adam run around a bit, which he loved, and Bach splashed through some puddles left behind by street cleaning, that Patrick rescued Adam from just before he stomped into them. Adam protested but Patrick distracted him by swooping him through the air, and Adam giggled with glee, and Patrick thought no, never mind, he had needed the full fifteen years to get Adam at the end of it.

 

Patrick didn’t think he was ever going to resolve his contradictory feelings toward the past fifteen years. He wanted to have lived two separate lifetimes.

 

The suite was still silent when they got back. Patrick ordered a bunch of room service for breakfast and let Adam crawl over him and pretended to eat his fingers and actually it was an unexpectedly lovely morning. Patrick had had such a topsy-turvy life since Adam’s birth, he wasn’t sure he’d stopped to enjoy him like this.

 

Miranda woke first, trailing out into the living room with her short hair spiked all over her head from sleep. She greeted Bach before she greeted Patrick, which clarified Patrick’s position in her life, Patrick thought wryly.

 

And then she tucked happily into a stack of chocolate chip pancakes.

 

Patrick watched her and thought that he should broach the topic of Ashley with her. After everything had gone so poorly with Kylie, Patrick had become a coward. He didn’t want to cause panic in his daughters. He’d thought proposing a visit to their mother would be a _good_ thing. He hadn’t thought through all the implications of it. And he was grateful that Matt had made him think through them, but it had made him skittish about bringing it up again.

 

Patrick really didn’t want to bring it up now. They’d had such a good couple of days, and Patrick just wanted it to stay that way.

 

Miranda distracted him from his train of thought by asking, “Can I dye my hair blue?”

 

“What?” said Patrick, caught completely off-guard.

 

“Anna’s hair is pink and it’s really cool, but my hair is already practically pink. So can I dye it blue?”

 

“I suppose,” Patrick said. “If you want to. We’d have to ask a hairdresser to help us, though, I don’t think I’m capable of dyeing hair.”

 

“Who’s dyeing hair?” Kylie asked, entering yawning. “You can barely dye _Easter eggs_.”

 

“Did you literally wake up just to come in here and deliver a barbed witticism?” Patrick asked her.

 

Kylie grinned at him and investigated the breakfast options.

 

There was a knock on the door and Patrick answered it, Adam in his arms and Bach bouncing around him happily.

 

It was Anna, who said cheerfully, “Good morning, Trick and Trick children.”

 

Kylie and Miranda said _hello_ around full mouths.

 

Anna said, “Where’s his majesty?”

 

“Sleeping it off still. So is Hailey.”

 

“I assumed you might be slow to get started, but David and Cora and the kids and I are ready to get going. Shall we just meet you in New York?”

 

Patrick opened his mouth to say yes, and then Miranda darted over. “Wait, can I go on your bus?”

 

“Miranda,” Patrick said gently. “Anna just played a whole concert last night. She doesn’t need to answer lots of questions—”

 

“No, it’s totally fine,” Anna said. “Happy to have her come along.”

 

“I’ll be super-quiet,” Miranda promised. “I won’t bother anyone at all. I’ll just _listen_.”

 

Miranda looked so hopeful that Patrick relented. “Hurry and get dressed.” He looked at Anna after Miranda had dashed off. “You don’t have to—”

 

“It’s genuinely fine, Trick. Don’t worry about it. I wish I’d had like someone like me around to talk to at her age. Speaking of the documentary, by the way, clear out some time tomorrow before the concert. I’d love to sit you and Matt down for the first of your interviews.”

 

“That should work,” Patrick said. “Matt has press, but it won’t be all day.”

 

Rachel came up to them and said brightly, “Oh, good! Everyone’s all together!”

 

“Matt’s still sleeping,” Anna said. “So not quite. David and I are going to take off and they’re going to meet us later.” Anna nodded toward Patrick.

 

“How much later?” Rachel asked worriedly.

 

“Not much later,” Patrick assured her. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

Miranda came dashing back, dressed now. “Ready!” she said breathlessly.

 

“Here we go, then, kiddo,” said Anna to her. And then to Patrick, “See you in New York.”

 

“Bye, Dad!” Miranda said, and then skipped next to Anna down the hallway, no hug or kiss or even a backward glance.

 

Patrick knew that meant he was doing his job right, putting all of this time and effort into raising kids that were confident enough not to hesitate to leave him. But still, there was a tiny pang in his heart.

 

Maybe not really very tiny.

 

Patrick looked at the baby in his arms and said, “You can take your time with the next ten years of your life.”

 

Rachel said, “How’s Matt?”

 

“You sound anxious,” remarked Patrick. “I promise he’s fine. He’s sleeping last night off.”

 

“What about last night?”

 

“His whole adrenaline high,” Patrick said, amused. “Don’t worry, there was no other kind of high involved.”

 

“Lilah and Brie are trusting me to make sure this tour goes well,” Rachel said.

 

“Which is obnoxious of them, both because they should be doing it themselves—”

 

“They’re paying me extra,” Rachel admitted.

 

“—and because we’re grown-ups now who don’t need to be babysat.”

 

“You were grown-ups the first time around and I get the impression you needed to be babysat,” Rachel pointed out.

 

“We were barely grown-ups. I can’t believe people considered us old enough to take care of ourselves. We definitely weren’t. Anyway, I promise we’re okay, Matt just needs to sleep for a bit, we’ll arrive in New York later today safe. Where’s Carmen?”

 

“What?” asked Rachel, looking caught off-guard by the question.

 

“Normally you have Carmen with you, and normally she’s a calming influence,” said Patrick. “She’s, like, the me to your Matt.”

 

Rachel shook her head, looking appalled. “I’m not like Matt! Why do people keep saying that?”

 

Patrick bit back his amusement. “Who else has said that to you?”

 

“Carmen,” said Rachel sulkily.

 

Patrick grinned because he couldn’t help it. “Anyway, you should bring Carmen along. She’d distract you and you’d be less anxious.”

 

“I’m not anxious,” Rachel denied anxiously.

 

“We’ll see you in New York,” said Patrick, and smiled as he closed the door on her.

 

“She’s totally anxious,” remarked Kylie from her waffle.

 

“She just wants things to go well,” said Patrick, and located his phone and used it to text Brie. _No, seriously, Matt and I don’t need to be babysat, you can just pay Rachel extra because she’s great._

 

Brie wrote back almost immediately. _The young bird learns to fly not at all, then all at once_.

 

Patrick shook his head.

 

***

 

Matt woke, again, to the buzz of voices in the next room. He smiled into his pillow and thought, as he stretched, that he really needed to get used to that. This was his life now. There would always be the buzz of voices in the next room. And that sounded _divine_.

 

Matt got himself up out of bed slowly, letting himself take a while over it. He felt pleasantly sore and achey and fatigued, evidence of a night well-spent the night before, and he wanted to roll around in the feeling as much as he’d wanted to roll around in the purr of contentment earlier. He showered perfunctorily and dressed just as lazily, and when he stepped out into the living area Patrick was there, talking with Kylie and Hailey, while Bach and Adam were seeing what kind of trouble they could get into, and it was all perfection.

 

“Hey,” Patrick said as he shuffled out into the living room. “Good morning.”

 

Matt reached the couch and looked down at him, and then thought, _Fuck it_. He was tired of not touching Patrick whenever he wanted. He was tired of it being a thing he had to think about before he did it. Patrick’s kids were there, but no cameras, and Matt thought that was good enough to be able to just…give in.

 

So he dropped onto the couch and draped himself against Patrick’s side, into the warm comfort of him being there. And then he said, to Kylie and Hailey, “Hi.”

 

“Hi,” they chorused.

 

Patrick was stiff underneath Matt, but at his kids’ casual response, Matt felt him relax, and then, astonishingly, brush a kiss into Matt’s hair, where his head was resting on his shoulder. Matt smiled in reaction, even though he knew Patrick couldn’t see it.

 

“Where’s your sister?”

 

“She left with Anna and David and the rest,” answered Patrick.

 

“Hmm,” said Matt, and eyed the remains of breakfast. “How late is it?”

 

“Late enough. I ordered you hot water with honey and lemon but I’m dubious how hot the water is anymore.”

 

“We’ll get more on our way out,” said Matt. “Do I have us behind schedule?”

 

“Only a bit,” Patrick said.

 

Matt gathered himself and straightened off of Patrick and stretched out. Then he looked at Kylie and Hailey and said, “Did you two scavengers leave me any food at all?”

 

They grinned.

 

***

 

Rachel called Carmen when they got into New York, although she didn’t know what she intended to say to her. _Do you calm me down? Am I anxious?_

 

Rachel would not have characterized herself as anxious in her performance days, but she thought now that that was because she had been so anxious all the time that she hadn’t even noticed it as anxiety. She had thought that was just the way people lived. When she had finally had enough and run away…it had been Carmen who had been there.

 

So yes. Maybe she used Carmen to soothe her anxiety. Maybe it was almost Pavlovian at this point. Matt was a fan of the piano for therapeutic purposes, as she well knew, but Rachel had abandoned her piano, and maybe she had replaced her piano with…Carmen.

 

 _Are you my piano substitute?_ she wanted to ask. But that didn’t seem quite right, either, because Matt had his piano and he had Patrick. Did people need both? Maybe people needed both. Did _she_ need both?

 

And what did it mean that Carmen was her _Patrick_?

 

“Hello?” Carmen said. “Rachel? Are you there?”

 

“I’m here,” said Rachel hurriedly. “Sorry. I was… Sorry.”

 

“No problem. You’re busy working. Keeping your boys in check. Things seem to be going well. Apparently they discussed Matt’s sexual history on stage last night.”

 

“They did. You’ve been following Twitter?”

 

“It’s irresistible to follow their hashtag,” said Carmen. “There’s a picture of them arriving in Boston yesterday and you’re in the background. You look anxious.”

 

“Thanks,” said Rachel sourly, annoyed Carmen seemed to be reading her mind so well.

 

“I mean, you also look cute, but, you know, just making sure you don’t go looking for trouble where there isn’t any. I also read the concert reviews that came out and people are happy.”

 

Rachel had read the reviews, too. They had mainly praised a Swan that “didn’t seem to have lost a step.” Rachel had been worried about Matt’s ability to pull off the concert, based on the rehearsals she’d seen, but he’d been brilliant and compelling and the reviewers had heralded his return.

 

“Yeah,” she said. “They might pull it off.”

 

Carmen sounded amused as she said, “They’re going to be fine. You’re worried you’re not going to have enough to do and how will you fill your time?”

 

“Do you want to join the tour?” Rachel asked abruptly.

 

***

 

“Best Bets this July Fourth weekend,” Matt read aloud, sprawled on yet another bed in yet another hotel room.

 

Patrick glanced at him where he was scrolling through his phone. In the suite’s living area the kids were squabbling over their choices on television. Patrick was on the floor building towers for Adam or Bach to knock over.

 

“Are we on it?” he asked.

 

“Would I be reading this to you if we weren’t on it? ‘In a blast from the past, band Swan joins together for a tour fifteen years after its last one. Frontman Matt Usher, who you may recall from a star-making turn on “Who Can Sing the Best?’”—hmm—” Matt made a happy, pleased humming sound that made Patrick smile—“‘is on fine form, a pro at delivering a concert that’s a massive party heavy on the charm.’”

 

“Are you reading me this because of how many nice things it says about you?” Patrick asked, amused.

 

“Hang on, I’m getting to the you part. Christ, you’re impatient. ‘Usher’s banter partner _Patrick Reed_ —’ See?”

 

“‘Banter partner’?” Patrick said. “That’s what they call me?”

 

“That’s what I call you, too,” said Matt, looking over at him with a grin. “My banter partner. It’s better than life partner.”

 

“You’ve never once called me that.”

 

“You’re not around to hear me say it. It happens when I meet new people at parties. ‘Have you met my banter partner? He’s around here somewhere. Let me find him.’”

 

“Finish reading about me,” Patrick said.

 

Matt laughed and went back to his phone. “‘Patrick Reed looks more comfortable behind the band’s piano than he had in a long time before the band’s tempestuous break-up. The Reed and Usher magic that made them such a successful songwriting duo has settled into place in a reunion sure to win them new fans while simultaneously pleasing old ones.’”

 

“Huh,” said Patrick. “Did I seem uncomfortable behind the piano before?”

 

Matt gave him a look. “Let’s focus on ‘the Reed and Usher magic’ bit.”

 

“Surprised they didn’t go with Mattrick.”

 

“Apparently they’re not a fan that way,” said Matt, still scrolling through his phone. “Here’s a comment.”

 

“Never read the comments.”

 

“‘They discussed Matt’s sexual history in Boston, do you think that’s going to be a theme of the tour?’ Hmm.” This sound was a thoughtful one.

 

“No,” said Patrick. “My kids are in the audience.”

 

“Your kids know you have sex, you know. You _have kids_.”

 

“Matt,” said Patrick.

 

“We should have called this the Sexual History Tour. Missed opportunity. I’m going to tweet that.”

 

“Oh, God,” said Patrick.

 

Matt tapped away at his phone.

 

Patrick said, “Tomorrow you’ve got a ton of press and you’re going to get a million questions about your sexual history.”

 

“Just the way I like it,” said Matt negligently.

 

Patrick shook his head. But it _was_ a very Matt thing, to look forward to being charming and roguish during press calls, and that was why they just let Matt do it, since he loved it so much and was so unbothered by it.

 

“And then we’ve got VIP winners doing a backstage meet-and-greet, you know,” Patrick continued.

 

“Yes. And in between we’ve agreed to let Anna interview us and probably she is also going to ask us about our sexual history. What a great day I have ahead of me tomorrow!” Matt, looking genuinely delighted, tossed his phone aside and looked over at Patrick. Matt was somehow managing to take up the entire bed. There wouldn’t have been room for Patrick on it if he’d tried. Not that he was inclined to try with kids in such close proximity. But still.

 

But still. He knew Matt would make room. Matt would do anything if he asked. That was what Lilah had been so worried about. Matt, puckish and sweet and so very sunnily happy at the moment, and all of that was in Patrick’s hands, and Lilah was wrong to think that _she_ was the only one worried about the power that gave Patrick.

 

Matt said, “You’re frowning at me. What a terrible look. What horrible thoughts are you having?”

 

Patrick shook his head. “I love you a lot,” he said.

 

“I know,” said Matt. “Don’t frown at me when you think that.”

 

“I’m not,” said Patrick. “You’re just…very happy right now. I just want to make sure you stay that way.”

 

“We’re okay,” said Matt.

 

“Yes,” Patrick agreed, because they _were_. “We are. Miranda wants to dye her hair blue.” It seemed like an apt subject change.

 

Matt laughed. “Oh, that’s a great idea. You should ask Anna where she gets hers done.”

 

“That’s a good idea.”

 

“I wonder if Anna gets it done in L.A. I know she bases herself out of L.A. when she’s not touring the world making Oscar-winning films. Speaking of L.A., how are things going on that front?”

 

Matt asked it so casually, like Patrick wasn’t suffering daily torment over what to do about L.A. “What do you mean?” asked Patrick innocently.

 

Which was pointless, because there was no use pretending he didn’t know exactly what Matt was talking about. Matt gave him an unimpressed look.

 

Patrick said, “I haven’t really talked to any of them about it. I’m kind of…leaving it.” The kids were still loud in the living area, although now they were bonding over their dislike of whatever they were watching, so Patrick was confident he wasn’t being eavesdropped on. “Kylie seems to have recovered and they’re all just so happy to be out on tour and we’ve just gotten started so I thought…I’d just leave it until later.”

 

Matt gave him a long look, and then shifted to look up at the ceiling.

 

Patrick drew his eyebrows together. “What was that for?”

 

“Nothing,” said Matt.

 

“Matt,” said Patrick.

 

Matt took a deep breath and then scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know if we should get into this now.”

 

“Get into what now?” asked Patrick. “You can’t just bring up that there’s something to get into and then not get into it.”

 

Matt, after a second, spoke to the ceiling. “You do this, you know. When things are good, you don’t bring up the things that could make them less good. You sweep them away and you hope they’ll never have to come back. Even though you know they do. Have to come back. You did it with us. When things were good, you let me think they were _good_ , when all along they were nothing close to good, you just were pretending that you wouldn’t have to ever talk to me about how not good they were. You think you were good at telling me you were unhappy, and you were, when you were angry with me. But in between, I thought we were good, I thought I was making it work, and all along you were… Anyway. I’m just saying. You shouldn’t do that to the kids. You can’t spring Ashley on them at the last minute. You should talk to them about it.”

 

Patrick stared at him in shocked silence, his brain stumbling through a million different memories of their relationship, every time during the restless unhappiness of the final days and weeks and months, when Matt had made him laugh, or smiled at him in just that way, and Patrick had thought, _This is good, I can make this work, it’s all fine_. Patrick _remembered_ thinking that. And it had never occurred to him before that all he’d done was make it so Matt hadn’t known how to make him happy, so that Matt had been in the dark, so that _yes_ , Matt had been stunned when Patrick finally left because Patrick, even though he hadn’t realized it, had done a _terrible_ job communicating with him.

 

Matt looked over at him uncertainly. “I wish you’d say something.”

 

“Fuck,” said Patrick, forgetting about Adam until Matt’s eyes flickered toward him. But Patrick was caught in this sudden realization, he could not believe how much he’d felt like his worldview had been rocked. “I _did_ do that.”

 

“Yes,” said Matt, with a rueful smile. “You did. See, this is why you should have gone to therapy, too.”

 

“You got that from therapy?”

 

“I spent a lot of time in therapy berating myself for not having seen how close I was to losing you. Like, all the things I missed, all the things I could have done differently. And my therapist kept saying that both of us were in the relationship, that it couldn’t have been all me—”

 

“It wasn’t all you,” Patrick said. “I’ve never thought it was all you.”

 

“Yes, you did. I mean, you know you were wrong to think that, but you did. And so did I. And my therapist would say… She would say, ‘Why is it only what you could have done differently? Why isn’t it what he could have told you?’ And I thought, you know, she was wrong, you did try to tell me. But, I don’t know, you’re saying this now and I’m just thinking, like, maybe she’s right and it wasn’t all me.”

 

“It wasn’t all you,” Patrick insisted. “It was never all you. Matt, it was never all you. Please push some of this guilt you’re walking around with my way, because it is totally deserved.”

 

Matt, after a second, rolled himself off the bed, startling Adam, who squawked at him in surprised and then happily toddled over to him with an outstretched block as a gift.

 

“One second, Adam,” Matt said, and leaned over Patrick’s tower to kiss him hard.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Patrick whispered, pushing a hand through Matt’s messy dark hair, looking at his dear face, his liquid eloquent eyes, the twist of his mouth, so uncertain and hopeful all at once, and thinking, _You love this person in a way you’ve loved no one before or since and you broke his heart and you let him break your heart and how did you fuck this up so badly?_ “I’m so sorry,” Patrick said again.

 

Matt shook his head. “It wasn’t all you, either.”

 

Patrick brushed kisses over Matt’s face, soft and sweet. “We can take turns with the guilt.”

 

“Deal,” said Matt, shifting his head to meet Patrick’s kisses.

 

“And I’ll talk to the kids,” Patrick promised.

 

“Good,” said Matt. “BP.”

 

“What?”

 

“That’s what I call you for short: Banter Partner. BP.”

 

“Oh, God,” said Patrick.

 

Adam came over to knock down the tower of blocks.

 

***

 

Patrick arrived at sound check much earlier than necessary, as had been arranged by Anna, so that documentary interviewing could happen.

 

Anna and her camera crew were all set up but Matt was nowhere to be seen.

 

“Where’s Matt?” Patrick asked, as he sat in the seat Anna indicated. There was an empty seat next to him that had clearly been intended for Matt.

 

Anna shrugged.

 

Patrick checked his phone, even though that was probably pointless. Matt was marginally better at responding to Patrick than he was to other people, but if he was stuck doing press he wouldn’t be checking his phone.

 

Patrick texted him, _?????_ , and then sat and let a bit of makeup be put on him.

 

“We can start without him,” Anna said.

 

“Can we?” said Patrick. “I thought you wanted to talk about _us_. I don’t want to be the one giving the official history of Mattrick.”

 

Anna looked amused. “You think you’ll be able to give the official history of Mattrick in one interview session? You think that history is that simple and straightforward?”

 

“Okay, fair point,” Patrick allowed, glancing at the camera. “Are you already recording?”

 

“Yes,” Anna said. “Don’t worry, I’ll edit it later. We can start at the beginning. How did you and Matt meet?”

 

Patrick hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t want to tell that story without Matt. It doesn’t seem right.”

 

Anna shrugged. “Okay, so let’s start earlier. When did you start writing music?”

 

“Oh, God,” said Patrick, and thought. “I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t writing music. I think I’ve written music my whole life. We had a piano in the house. A grand piano. It was mostly for show. I don’t think it was meant to be played. But I was always getting away and playing the piano. I think my parents at a certain point just gave up and got me lessons. I think they thought in their heads along the lines of Chopin.”

 

“Which wasn’t what they got,” said Anna.

 

“To put it mildly. I was supposed to be…” Patrick hesitated, because he didn’t talk about this much. “I was supposed to be very different.”

 

“Do you think you were disappointing to them?” asked Anna.

 

Patrick blew out a breath. “Jesus, you don’t pull punches, do you?”

 

“Are your parents still alive?” asked Anna, even though she knew they weren’t.

 

“No,” said Patrick. “They died in a car accident years ago.”

 

“Do you think you were disappointing to them?” Anna asked again.

 

Patrick wondered if this was what therapy was like. It was unpleasant. Mostly because, well, he knew the answer. He _had_ been disappointing to them. He hesitated a second more, then he said, “Yes.”

 

“Why?” asked Anna, because of course Anna wasn’t going to leave it there.

 

“Because they told me,” Patrick said drily. “I mean, you can’t entirely blame them. They paid a lot of money to give me this great education, sent me off to college, and I met a guy—in their opinion—from the wrong side of the tracks and immediately dropped out to be a _rock star_. Unsurprisingly, they didn’t think it was a wise decision on my part.” Patrick, remembering being dazed by the stunning force of the thud with which he’d fallen for Matt, didn’t entirely blame them. Those days felt blurry with endless teenage sex and passionate music and MattMattMatt everywhere he looked, inside and out. “They might not have been wrong about that.”

 

“Yeah, but you met this guy from the wrong side of the tracks and wrote a few dozen hit songs and won a Grammy. You took a huge risk but it turned out okay.”

 

It would have been nice to say, _Well, they didn’t live to find that out_. But they had. They’d been alive for some of the hit songs. They’d been alive for the Grammy. That hadn’t changed their minds. And Matt’s opinion was that Patrick was never going to change their minds. _They wanted a different son than they got, which is stupid because they got you, so fuck them_. Patrick remembered vividly the night Matt had said that, because the following week his parents were dead.

 

Patrick said, “They didn’t agree,” and then cleared his throat. “Okay, I’ve changed my mind, I’d rather talk about Matt.”

 

Anna smiled, and Patrick wondered if this had been her cunning plan all along. “Okay, tell us about Matt. How’d you meet?”

 

“I went away to college, one of those tiny out-of-the-way college towns that are supposed to be so quaint and perfect, and there was this bar with an open-mic night, and I’d been writing all this music, right? Music my whole life. This was my first opportunity to really have someone listen to it, since my parents weren’t interested and high school hadn’t been…like that. For me. But I needed a fake ID to get into the open-mic night. There was this kid at school who made them, but I had to save up to afford one, because I was really against spending any of my parents’ money on anything to do with my music, and I finally got this fake ID, and I do not endorse this, I want to make this clear, I do not endorse fake IDs, but I got the fake ID, and I got into the open-mic night, and it changed my entire life, so I can’t be too harsh when it comes to fake IDs.”

 

“You met Matt at the open-mic night?” Anna said.

 

“I met Matt at the open-mic night,” said Patrick, smiling at the memory of it.

 

And then Matt clattered his way into the room. “Oh,” he said. “Oops. I’m late. Sorry. Press was—Sorry. Are we already recording?” Matt dropped into the chair next to Patrick and gave him a harried smile. “Hello. Are you saying nice things about me?”

 

“I’m talking about the night we met.”

 

“ _Oh_ ,” said Matt. “Are you telling a totally biased account of my behavior? Let me correct the record.”

 

And then Matt told the story. He started with, “At an open-mic night like a million others, in a college town like a million others…”

 

***

 

At an open-mic night like a million others, in a college town like a million others, Matt Usher was bored.

 

Which wasn’t unusual. Matt was frequently bored. Matt’s default state was boredom. It was a boring bar in a boring town and Matt kept maps saved on his phone of all the way more incredible and interesting places than this one that he was totally going to get to someday and then he wasn’t going to be bored anymore.

 

But right now he was _bored beyond belief_. He was bored _deep in his soul_. He was bored in a melodramatic way that he was steadily tweeting about to his tiny audience of followers. Mostly Anna and David. Anna tweeted back, _JUST LEAVE THEN AND STOP SUBJECTING US TO THESE TWEETS_.

 

Matt was contemplating leaving. He’d gone to the open-mic night because he’d started the evening bored. Bored and restless and sick of everything. It was November, a dying time of year, and Matt felt the crushing decay of it everywhere, all around him. It was horrible. He’d had to get out of his house, and open-mic had felt like as good an option as any.

 

Sometimes he participated in this open-mic night, stepped up to the microphone with his guitar for company and sang a song. It was a desultory open-mic night, though, with no one really paying any attention to you unless you were one of the fratboys who brought a coterie of friends along, and Matt didn’t see the point of an open-mic night if no one was going to pay attention to you. It was like a tree falling in a forest with no one around.

 

Matt occasionally came to the open-mic night just to listen. He more often came just to drink. But neither option was really very appealing at the moment. The singers so far had been lackluster, mainly lost behind the buzz of disinterested conversation, and the bartender had given him such an insultingly watered-down gin and tonic that Matt was considering boycotting the bar altogether.

 

Matt thumbed his way through Twitter and glanced up as one singer made way for the next at the microphone. A kid with an acoustic guitar and an overgrown head of too-much shocking red hair, curling a bit at the tips. A smattering of freckles across his nose that Matt could see even from the back of the room. He looked even younger than Matt himself, and Matt thought comically how the only reason this bar was as crowded as it was was because the bouncers were hilariously credulous when it came to fake IDs.

 

Matt looked back down at his phone. Even Twitter was boring tonight. He should go home and he should dig up his own bottle of gin and he should make himself write a song. Probably about gin. He would write a good old-fashioned song about gin.

 

That didn’t appeal to him, either, but at least it would be movement, getting him out of this bar—

 

“There are nights I chase a dream around, it starts right at the edge of town and vanishes in thin air on the horizon,” sang the kid at the microphone, and Matt looked up sharply. “There are days I watch the paths of clouds and the flights of birds and unknowing crowds, waiting for a moment I can find to sympathize in.”

 

He had a clear voice, confident of its tone, hitting the notes head-on, and his guitar underneath  was aching, an edge of hopefulness to it that Matt heard in the voice, in the words. He sang with his eyes wide open, right on the crowd in front of him, a feat Matt could never manage to pull off, ever, he always shied away to hide. This guy wasn’t hiding. This guy was right there. Matt stared at him, his phone forgotten.

 

“Always just ahead of me,” went the song, “and I may never reach it. Forever just ahead of me, and I may never reach it.”

 

Matt felt transfixed, and also vaguely horrified, like he wanted to bundle this guy off-stage and demand to know why he wasn’t more protective of himself. And then Matt wanted to say, _Tell me more_. And Matt didn’t even know about _what_.

 

“I may never reach it,” the guy sang one more time, over one last cascading melody from his guitar, and then he stepped back from the microphone. It was somehow so gorgeous, in a way that made Matt feel like his head had been taken off. Like, the idea that this guy was singing about something out-of-reach, maybe forever unattainable, but had managed to do so in a melody that made Matt think of _hope_ , like maybe it was a good thing to have a thing just out of reach that you were chasing… Like maybe that was a _good_ thing…

 

The applause was polite and absent-minded, the way the applause always was at open-mic night.

 

Matt took a shaky breath, aware suddenly that he’d been mostly holding his breath while the song had been happening.

 

The girl next to him said, “Hey, you dropped your phone,” and poked at his arm with it.

 

Matt took it automatically, turning to her and saying breathlessly, “Who the fuck was that guy who just performed?”

 

She looked disgusted at that question. “What?”

 

But Matt was already scrambling off his seat.

 

***

 

Patrick Reed, in the rush of the first song he’d ever sung in public, nevertheless felt a little bereft as he stepped off the stage. He’d brought no one with him to sit in the audience to cheer him on, so there was no one to greet him once the song was over. It was anticlimactic, Patrick thought, to just go sit in the audience now and listen to the rest of the performances. Patrick didn’t want to hear other people’s songs. He wanted to keep his in his head, close in his memory, this first performance. He wanted to sit somewhere and just quietly go over it all again.

 

He was putting his guitar back in its case when a guy came up to him and said the most ridiculous thing Patrick had ever heard.

 

“Optimism is the madness of insisting that all is well when we are miserable,” he said.

 

Patrick looked at the deliverer of this message. He was an impossibly attractive person, with artfully messy dark hair sticking up all over his head and strikingly dark eyes that were so intent on Patrick that Patrick shifted under the scrutiny, unsure what he was meant to do. “What?” he said.

 

“It’s Voltaire,” the man replied, like that was going to make things make more sense.

 

He was really _impossibly_ attractive. Patrick didn’t understand how he was just standing in this bar talking to him instead of on the cover of some magazine. “Okay,” he agreed affably, and clicked his case closed.

 

“Did you write that song?” the man asked.

 

Patrick could feel himself flush to the roots of his hair. He was grateful the bar was dim. He said, “Yes.”

 

“It was fucking gorgeous. It was really good.”

 

The man’s eyes were still feverishly intent on him, and Patrick had the impression the man was running calculations in his head or something, there seemed to be _so much_ happening in there. “Thanks,” he said awkwardly. He was ready to go now but he didn’t know how to extract himself from this man’s weird attention.

 

“Can I buy you a drink?” asked the man.

 

“I’m not twenty-one,” Patrick said stupidly, caught off guard.

 

The man’s lips curled into a smile that was effectively breathtaking. He said, “Obviously not. But you’re already here in the bar, so your fake ID already worked, so I can get you something to drink.”

 

Patrick, feeling ridiculous, shook his head a little bit. “No, I just… The fake ID was just so I could do the open-mic night. I really wanted to do it.”

 

The man kept his eyes on Patrick, intent, appraising, amused. “I’m Matt Usher,” he said abruptly, and held out his hand.

 

Patrick didn’t understand why they were now doing _introductions_ but he shook Matt’s hand politely and said, “I’m Patrick Reed.”

 

Matt said, “I’m about to change your life, Patrick Reed,” and smiled that curving, dangerous smile.

 

***

 

“Did you really say that?” asked Anna. “‘I’m about to change your life?’”

 

“Yes,” said Matt. “Well, I _was_. And you know this story already.”

 

“I know it, but everyone else doesn’t.” Anna gestured to the camera. “And I really thought that ‘about to change your life’ line was apocryphal.”

 

“No, it’s true,” said Patrick. “That’s how Matt talks: in grand proclamations. He did it even when he was eighteen.”

 

“Wasn’t I right, though?” Matt demanded, looking at Patrick. “Wasn’t I about to change your life?”

 

“Yes,” Patrick said. “You were. But how were you really supposed to know that?”

 

“I knew.” Matt shrugged. “I just knew.”

 

“You’ve always been sure of your destiny,” said Patrick. “Much more sure than I ever was.”

 

Matt looked thoughtful. “Was I? I don’t know. I think I was just better at faking it.”

 

“Yes,” Patrick said. “Better at bluster. That’s you all over.”

 

“Bluster can get you very far in life.”

 

Patrick looked at the camera. “Life advice from Matt Usher.”

 

Matt shrugged. “Well, it _can_. It got me you. The bluster to swan right up to you and make you a pitch. It was a wild shot in the dark on my part, but I had to get your attention somehow, and that’s the best way I knew how. Being on the other side of outrageous is the best way to get attention. I’m an expert in seeking attention, it’s my main talent.”

 

“You’re a fairly good songwriter, too,” Patrick added, casual and light for the cameras but he knew Matt wouldn’t be fooled by it. Patrick gave Matt a brief meaningful look, so that Matt would know he was saying, _You’re a really good songwriter, don’t sell yourself short_.

 

Matt smiled a bit and said, “I’m _okay_ , I suppose.”

 

“You can sometimes carry a tune,” Patrick continued, grinning at Matt.

 

“Every once in a while, if you give me a really good bucket,” said Matt.

 

“That joke was beneath you,” Patrick told him.

 

“It was,” Matt agreed. “I’m not even going to pretend it wasn’t.”

 

Patrick laughed, and then there was a knock on the door.

 

Anna, looking annoyed, glanced at her watch, then called, “Come in!”

 

The door opened on Kylie, who said immediately, “Okay, I think it’s important to stay calm.”

 

Which was the opposite of anything that was going to make Patrick stay calm. “What?” he asked in alarm, standing. “What’s happened?”

 

“It’s nothing major. It’s just…Matt’s suit.” Kylie gave Matt a chagrined look.

 

Matt, who loved his suits and chose them with such care, turned a sickly shade of gray and said, “What about my suit?”

 

***

 

Matt’s suit had been laid out in the dressing room, carefully arranged to avoid wrinkles, and Hailey was sitting on the floor by it, looking absolutely miserable, her face red and blotchy and streaked with tears. Miranda was sitting next to her, wringing her hands and looking equally anxious. Bach, sensing all the tension in the room, abandoned trying to lick Hailey’s face to bark and bounce around Matt and Patrick as they entered.

 

“She totally didn’t mean it,” Miranda said immediately, which was what Kylie had been saying earnestly the whole time they’d been walking down the hall to the dressing room.

 

Matt looked at his beautiful suit, now sporting one very noticeable, very large streak of neon yellow glitter paint along the right leg of the pants.

 

“Mrs. Honeycutt told me not to work on the signs so near the suit,” Hailey said, sniffling and struggling through sobs, “but I didn’t think anything would happen, and we made signs in Boston, you seemed to like the signs, I should have done it in the hallway, though, or something, I’m really sorry, Matt, maybe we can get you another suit?”

 

Matt stared at the suit.

 

Patrick said, “Where is Mrs. Honeycutt?”

 

“She took Adam for a walk,” Kylie said. “He was fussy. I should have stopped Hailey. I’m sorry. I thought she’d just make a sign and—”

 

“It’s fine,” Matt heard himself say, automatic.

 

“Hey,” said Rachel behind them, “are you two already done filming with Anna, because the VIPs are—What happened to your suit?”

 

“I’m so sorry, Matt,” Hailey said, anguished.

 

Matt tore his eyes away from the suit to Hailey, who looked so miserable, and who had just been trying to make him a sign because she thought it would cheer him up and she just wanted to be nice to him. And he said again, “It’s fine,” and this time he believed it. This time he heard it in his voice, and Hailey must have, too.

 

She looked up at him, eyes still wet, hiccupping. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” he said. “Yes.” He crouched to be on her level. “It’s fine. This lucky audience gets a very special suit. It’s fine.” He reached out and smoothed a hand over her hair.

 

“I didn’t mean it,” Hailey said.

 

“Of course you didn’t. It’s fine. The sign was a nice idea. I have a very fragile ego. I need to be told pretty much constantly what a great singer I am. Thank you for looking out for me.”

 

“It’s really okay?”

 

“It’d be better if you told me what a great singer I am, no one’s said it in, like, five whole minutes.”

 

That earned him a smile, watery but very much there. “You’re a great singer.”

 

“Thank you,” Matt said, and then pulled her into a hug, kissing the top of her head and then ducking to murmur into her ear, “It was sweet of you. Thank you so much for wanting to make me a sign. This is all fine, don’t worry about it, okay?”

 

He waited until she nodded against him before he pulled back and stood.

 

Patrick said, “Okay, but in the future we probably shouldn’t make signs near Matt’s suit.”

 

“Why are they even in the same room as the suit?” asked Rachel.

 

“It’s our dressing room,” Matt said. “Where else are they supposed to be?”

 

“It’s _your_ dressing room,” Rachel corrected. “Patrick has his own.”

 

“Do I?” said Patrick. “Where?”

 

Rachel pointed. “It’s literally right next door.”

 

Patrick, curious, stepped out of the dressing room and opened the door next door. “But this room is empty.”

 

“Because you’re last minute with your costume choices,” Rachel pointed out. “Thus, this would have been a perfect room for art projects.”

 

“We’ll keep that in mind in the future. Hear that, kids?” Patrick waited for his kids to all nod.

 

“In the meantime,” said Rachel to Matt, “what are we going to do about your suit?”

 

Matt, standing in the doorway of Patrick’s empty dressing room, looked at her in surprise. “What? Nothing. I’ll just wear it with the paint on it.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Rachel, Christ, it’s a suit at a rock concert, who cares. It’ll be fine.”

 

“Give us a second,” Patrick said suddenly, “Matt and I have to talk about the VIPs.”

 

“About the VIPs?” echoed Rachel, as Patrick closed the door in her face.

 

Then he shoved Matt back up against the wall and kissed him.

 

Matt smiled into the kiss and wrapped his arms around Patrick’s neck, settling in. “You’re transparent. You’re a transparent person.”

 

“I think you’ll find I’m very solid,” said Patrick, with a lovely meaningful thrust.

 

Matt gasped into the kiss, tightening his fingers around the too-long curling hair on the nape of Patrick’s neck, and managed, “This is good, let’s make sure you always have a dressing room we can use for fucking.”

 

Patrick chuckled and bit lightly at Matt’s collarbone, not hard enough to leave a mark but hard enough for Matt to feel it down to his toes. And his cock, which was more important. “We can’t, everyone’s waiting for us. I just wanted you to know that I love you a lot.”

 

“So you keep saying,” said Matt, “and yet you dragged me in here just to tease me.”

 

Patrick smiled and took Matt’s lower lip in between his teeth and tugged. And then said, “I didn’t mean to really. I just had to kiss you. I know how you feel about your suits, about your carefully-constructed image, and how you just were with Hailey is… I just really wanted to kiss you.” Patrick rested his forehead against Matt’s.

 

Matt held onto him, the heavy darling weight of him, and said breathlessly, “You can shove me up against any wall you want, whenever you want. I give you blanket permission.”

 

Patrick kissed the corner of Matt’s mouth and then said, his voice low and urgent and unexpectedly ragged, “I love you so much more than that blustery boy who came up to me in that bar that night. I love _you_. _So_ much more. I don’t know, I think I love you more now than I ever did and I thought I loved you such an impossible amount. I love you more. I love you more now.”

 

Matt tore his hands through Patrick’s hair and closed his eyes and said, “You know what you said the first night? About how if this was a dream you didn’t want to wake up before the good part?”

 

“Yeah,” Patrick said, with a kiss behind Matt’s ear.

 

“If this is a dream I _never_ want to wake up,” said Matt fervently.

 

Patrick kissed behind Matt’s ear again and said, “It’s not a dream, darling.”

 

Matt believed him but then, it was generally in Matt’s nature to believe Patrick.

 

***

 

In the awkward amount of time before the VIPs showed up, Patrick sat with Matt’s guitar and strummed at it absently. Adam kept going over to touch it, clearly fascinated, and Hailey exclaimed, “You play the _guitar_ , too?”

 

Matt gave Patrick a look which Patrick read easily as _You kept that from your kids, too?_

 

“I do,” said Patrick.

 

“That’s how we met,” said Matt. “He was playing the guitar.”

 

“You’re not bad,” Kylie told him.

 

Patrick laughed.

 

David said, “What is that you’re playing?”

 

“I don’t know.” Patrick shrugged. “Something new. I’m making it up as I go along.”

 

“It’s fun,” said Cora, as Adam started clapping. “Upbeat.” She started clapping along with Adam.

 

Brenna and Kyle started dancing around, and Mrs. Honeycutt led them in twirls. Hailey sat close beside him, studying his fingers on the strings with frank curiosity.

 

Miranda glanced up from where she was watching Anna go over footage but wasn’t to be distracted by the impromptu dance party.

 

Carmen said, “What’s this? I would have joined this tour long ago if I’d known there were dance parties going on.”

 

“Carmen!” Matt said pleasantly. “Come in and take your opportunity to dance with a rock star.”

 

“Can I Snapchat it?” Carmen asked, as Matt pulled her into a dance hold.

 

“No,” Matt said, “my hair’s not a mess. I only allow social media when my hair’s a proper mess.”

 

Carmen laughed.

 

Patrick glanced at Rachel, who had followed Carmen into the room, and smiled at her.

Rachel looked a little sheepish.

 

Matt was layering in a melody over Patrick’s guitar, as he danced with Carmen as dramatically as possible. Carmen had embarked on a salsa, which immediately put Matt in over his head, since Matt was at best a terrible dancer. Matt generally danced by writhing sexily around. Not that anyone ever protested that.

 

Anna complained, “Do you have to be so charming and write a song together now when I’m not filming?”

 

“Yes,” said Matt, making Carmen laugh as he stepped a bit on her toes. “Patrick and I endeavor to be charming only off-camera from now on.”

 

“And on-stage, I hope,” said Rachel.

 

“We’ll give it a try,” said Matt. “I make no promises.” He glanced over at Patrick, eyes bright, grinning, and Patrick smiled in response.

 

And then Rachel said, “Okay, well, I hate to break this whole scene up but it’s time for the meet-and-greet with the VIPs and then the sound check.”

 

“Let’s do it,” said Matt, and put his hands in his hair to mess it up some more.

 

Patrick put his guitar aside, and Adam immediately tried his very best to tug it to the ground and break it.

 

“Okay,” said Patrick, picking him up and swinging him through the air to make him laugh. “I’ll be back.” He nuzzled enthusiastic kisses into Adam’s belly and Adam laughed more, and then handed him over to Mrs. Honeycutt.

 

And then they went to the VIPs.

 

Their VIPs these days were clustered in their 30s, a different age bracket than in the old days, which made perfect sense, of course. And they talked in terms of nostalgia, Swan songs as the soundtrack to their lives, marking major milestones.

 

“I lost my virginity to ‘Lose My Head,’” one confided.

 

Matt said, completely unfazed, because people were always saying outrageously intimate things to Matt, “I’m jealous, I wish ‘Lose My Head’ had been around for me to lose my virginity to.”

 

“What did you lose your virginity to?” she asked.

 

Matt said, “And the Sexual History Tour continues, I see.”

 

The VIPs got the joke, because naturally the VIPs followed social media.

 

“I’m so glad you two made up,” said another VIP, clearly talking to Mattrick as a unit. “It was so sad when you had that big fight.”

 

It hadn’t been a big fight, Patrick thought, so much as a million little ones, but he understood how it had appeared to outsiders.

 

Matt glanced at him and said, “We’re having fun,” and then neatly turned the conversation back to the VIPs. “We hope you’re having fun, too.”

 

The VIPs didn’t take the bait. They asked where Patrick’s kids were.

 

Patrick wanted to say, _Why would I bring my kids to a VIP meet-up? And why are you entitled to know their whereabouts?_

 

Matt said smoothly, “They’re off being kids.”

 

“It must be weird to be the kids of rock stars,” said one of the VIPs.

 

“The pictures of you two with the baby have been so cute,” said another.

 

“He looks just like you,” another said to Patrick.

 

Patrick must have looked horrified by how much talk was happening about his kids, because Matt said, “I think we should go to soundcheck now. Rachel? Isn’t it time for soundcheck?”

 

“Sure,” Rachel agreed, even though they were definitely going to be early for soundcheck.

 

Patrick managed a smile to the VIPs as they filed out of the room.

 

Anna said, “We will meet you two out there,” and she and David exited the room.

 

Matt said to Patrick, “I’ll take care of that.”

 

“Jesus,” said Patrick, “I preferred the days when the VIPs would just come out and ask if we were fucking.”

 

“I’m going to take care of it,” Matt insisted.

 

“How?” said Patrick, a little bewildered by Matt’s confidence.

 

“Let’s go have fun at soundcheck,” Matt said, instead of answering.

 

The VIPs lined up beyond the stage. Patrick sat at his piano and played a few rising arpeggios, letting the keys slide under his fingers, listening to the ringing of the notes in his ears. Anna tapped a couple of times on her drums and let a cymbal crash. David played one blasting, piercing note on his saxophone.

 

Matt strummed his fingers across his guitar and leaned into the microphone, and said, “Let’s try this.” His eyes flickered toward Patrick. Matt wasn’t wearing sunglasses; he didn’t generally during soundchecks. Sometimes he did if they had an audience, but this wasn’t one of those times, and Patrick was a little surprised by how comforting that glance from Matt was, when he could read his eyes. Of course, what he read there wasn’t very clear, and Patrick tipped his head, unsure what was coming next. “On your toes, Trick,” Matt said.

 

“On my fingers, you mean,” said Patrick.

 

Matt chuckled and started playing what was unmistakably the tune Patrick had just been building in the green room. Patrick smiled, and smiled more when Anna added in a drum beat, a little hesitant but there.

 

Matt grinned and sang words Patrick had never heard before, reworking Patrick’s song to fit more snugly against his melody. “You’ve still got the same old smile, the one that I would walk a mile just to see. You look at me the same old way, that gaze that makes me want to stay and never leave.” Matt stopped playing his guitar, having reached the end of the fledgling tune, but he sang acapella into the microphone, Anna keeping her drumbeat behind him, “And it’s just a lot, the way you’ve curled your way into that old familiar spot.” The VIPs began clapping in time with Anna’s drums, and Patrick was surprised, how Matt had taken Patrick’s idle musical ramblings and their half-formed lyrics and created this joyous, danceable song out of it.

 

Although he shouldn’t have been surprised, Matt was good at this.

 

“It’s just a lot,” Matt sang, “the way one look from you ties my insides into knots. It’s just a lot, how you make me feel like we could have a shot. It’s just a lot. It’s just a lot.” Matt stepped back from the microphone and Anna cut out the drums and Matt bowed to the applause he received and then stepped back up to the microphone. “Thank you. That’s a new one. We’re working on that one. I’m happy with my sound,” he said to the sound engineer at the back, who sent him a thumbs-up.

 

“So far, so good,” said Anna.

 

“Patrick, play something,” said Matt.

 

Patrick knew Matt just meant for him to test his sound, and probably just expected him to choose something basic, but Patrick wasn’t going to let Matt show off a whole new song and not try something different himself.

 

Matt, Patrick thought, had wanted to get him out of his head during soundcheck, by doing something unusual, so that Patrick couldn’t do soundcheck automatically, going through the motions, and two could play at that game.

 

Patrick played a melody on the piano that made Matt freeze and look at him, wide-eyed.

 

Patrick smiled at him, thinking, _Fuck, he really never did forget it_ , and held Matt’s gaze as he leaned toward his microphone and sang, “There are nights I chase a dream around, it starts right at the edge of town and vanishes in thin air on the horizon. There are days I watch the paths of clouds and the flights of birds and unknowing crowds, waiting for a moment I can find to sympathize in.”

 

Patrick let the song drift to an end, because he really didn’t want to sing about things being out of reach anymore. Nothing seemed out of reach anymore.

 

He smiled again at Matt, still looking frozen in place by his microphone, and then said to the crowd, “And that one was a very, very old one.”

 

Patrick heard Matt’s little intake of breath, and then Matt said, “Okay, let’s do a real soundcheck and play a bit of ‘Lose My Head,’ I heard it was a special song for someone in the crowd.”

 

The VIPs all cheered.

 

***

 

“Hang on,” Patrick was saying to his kids, “are you literally fighting about who has to walk Bach? Because I believe that my children put on an entire _performance_ to convince me that they were all _very enthusiastic_ about Bach care.”

 

The kids looked sulky and murderous toward each other.

 

Matt took advantage of this to duck out of the dressing room in search of Rachel, who he found on her phone making frantic notes.

 

“Uh-oh,” she said, when she hung up from her conversation.

 

Matt frowned. “Why ‘uh-oh’?”

 

“Because you don’t tend to talk to me unless you have a problem.”

 

“I do have a problem,” Matt said.

 

“See?” Rachel sighed. “Okay, what can I do for you?”

 

“Going forward, all VIPs have to agree not to bring up Patrick’s kids during the meet-and-greet.”

 

Rachel blinked. “What?”

 

“It’s a simple request. They agree not to bring up his kids. If they break that rule, they lose the rest of the VIP experience. Make it happen.”

 

Rachel, after a second, said, “Yeah. That’s fair. I’ll make sure to get all future VIPs to agree.”

 

It was Matt’s turn to blink. “Huh,” he said. “That was somewhat easier than I’d expected it to be.”

 

Rachel rolled her eyes. “I’m not unreasonable, Matt. Patrick’s kids aren’t rock stars and didn’t ask for this life. The public eye is hard for kids. I get why the two of you want to keep them out of it.”

 

“Patrick wants to keep them out of it,” Matt said. “I’m just making sure Patrick’s wishes get fulfilled.”

 

“You want the kids in the public eye?” said Rachel, sounding surprised.

 

“Well, no. I’m just saying, like, what I want doesn’t matter. They’re Patrick’s kids.”

 

Rachel looked coolly amused by him, which was the only type of amusement Rachel had toward him, that amusement completely unalleviated by any fondness. “Okay,” she said, sounding dismissive.

 

Matt bristled. “What does that mean?”

 

“Matt, you’re basically the other dad.”

 

“The other dad?” Matt echoed blankly.

 

“Yeah. You know, Patrick’s their dad, and you’re their other dad.”

 

“I’m just, like…” Matt trailed off, because he realized he didn’t know what to say. _I’m just their dad’s boyfriend_ seemed not at all like what his current position in their lives was.

 

“Matt, if you could go have this delayed revelation somewhere else, that’d be great. I’m fielding a couple of issues cropping up tomorrow because of the firework display timing, so I really think maybe you should go find someone else if you need to talk this through.”

 

Matt frowned at her but decided talking to Rachel about any of this wasn’t going to be beneficial anyway.

 

Matt went to Anna’s dressing room and knocked.

 

Carmen opened the door, looking a little mussed, and said, “Hello, Matt, I was just leaving,” before ducking past him.

 

Matt lifted his eyebrows and looked at Anna, who didn’t look mussed so much as sleekly self-satisfied. “How long has that been going on?” he asked, stepping in and closing the door.

 

“It’s not a big thing,” said Anna. “Some of us are capable of having no-strings-attached sex without suffering existential angst.”

 

“I’m awesome at no-strings-attached sex,” Matt protested, sitting on Anna’s couch, then deciding that was a bad idea and _not_ sitting on Anna’s couch.

 

“You’re terrible at it.”

 

“How would you even _know_?” said Matt sulkily.

 

“You know a thing you forget about me, Matthew? I knew you before you knew Patrick. I’ve known you longer than anyone. You suffer existential angst at the drop of a hat. Really, it’s a safe bet at any given moment that you’re suffering existential angst. In fact, you’re probably suffering existential angst right now, aren’t you?”

 

“No,” Matt denied.

 

“Oh, did you come in here for a light and fluffy conversation about restaurant recommendations for tomorrow?”

 

“Am I the other dad?” asked Matt.

 

“That sounds suspiciously like existential angst,” remarked Anna.

 

“You’re fucking annoying and I’m finding this band a new drummer,” Matt told her.

 

“Of course you’re the other dad. What role did you think you were going to have with Patrick’s kids? You don’t do casual when it comes to Reeds.”

 

“I’m not, like, a _dad_ ,” protested Matt. “I don’t know how to be a father.”

 

“You’ve been doing pretty well so far,” said Anna, with a negligent shrug, like this was no big deal instead of a major life crisis Matt was having.

 

“Have I been?” he asked faintly.

 

“Oh, Christ,” said Anna. “The last time I told you I thought things in your life were going well, you had to have a dramatic meltdown by the cold and stormy sea. Is that where this is heading, too?”

 

“I think I should probably call my therapist,” said Matt.

 

***

 

“You okay?” Patrick asked, when Matt suddenly reappeared in time for the concert, dressed in his suit with the new neon yellow paint on the leg.

 

Matt nodded.

 

“You disappeared,” Patrick pointed out.

 

“Yeah. No big deal. We’ll talk about it later.”

 

“Everyone?” Rachel called from down the hall. “You’re on.”

 

Patrick studied Matt, unmoving.

 

“We’ll talk about it later,” Matt promised, and Patrick thought he actually meant it this time, that it wasn’t just a hollow way to delay things indefinitely.

 

So Patrick nodded.

 

And then the whirl of the concert entrance was upon them, the dark entry, Matt’s dramatic build-up into _Wild Ride_.

 

It was only the second concert but it already had the feeling of something they just _did_. Patrick had been lightly nervous before the Boston audience but now he knew they’d get through this all beautifully, he had no doubt in his mind.

 

“Hello, New York!” Matt shouted to the crowd, to deafening cheers. “We are so delighted to be here! We had a great show in Boston but you are our second crowd, and you know what they say about your second? What do they say about your second, Trick?”

 

Patrick said, “Do they say it’s better than your first?”

 

“Of course it’s better than your first, because you know what you’re fucking doing the second time!” Matt directed this to the crowd, who received it with uproarious applause.

 

“Matthew Usher,” said Patrick mildly, which made the crowd swoon with delight, as he’d known it would. “You’re going to upset the Boston audience.”

 

“Who’s going to tell the Boston audience?”

 

“All those thousands of people out there in the audience currently filming this to stick up on Tumblr.”

 

The crowd whistled confirmation.

 

Patrick told the crowd, “Don’t believe a word Matt says, he’s going to tell the Philly crowd they’re the best when we get there.”

 

“Patrick is slandering me,” Matt said, “I am always entirely sincere when I tell my audiences they’re the best ever, I _completely_ believe it at the time.” Matt grinned out at the audience, where scattered laughter was rising. He looked at ease, at _home_ , and whatever had been going on with him before the concert seemed insignificant, Matt looked completely unruffled.

 

Patrick relaxed further into his piano, into his position on this stage, into Matt bantering at the crowd, achingly comfortingly familiar.

 

“Okay, New York, should we play you another song?” asked Matt, and the crowd cheered in response. “I think they want a song. Patrick Reed.” Matt looked over at him. His sunglasses were in place but his smile was blindingly warm even without the warm gaze to back it up. “My _best ever_ piano player,” he said, his emphasis sweetly teasing. The crowd went wild, and Patrick was fairly sure he could _feel_ Matt’s wink at him behind the sunglasses. “Should we have some fun?”

 

Patrick couldn’t resist the smile back. “Hold out your hand,” he said, and they started _Scheme_.

 

***

 

Matt’s adrenaline high was milder after the second concert, which Patrick expected. He remembered that from the old days, that Matt could drift into mellower highs, genial and easy-going instead of intense and off-the-wall. The concert had been as fantastic as the first concert, but in a different way, all of them settling more into the rise and fall of it, Matt barreling through the party anthem of _Luck_ at the end with an infectious energy.

 

And at the very, very end, in the dark, he paused by Patrick to play _Heart and Soul_ again, and Patrick took the top part, conscious of Matt’s length against his shoulder as he leaned forward, hot and sweaty and sexier than he had any right to be. Patrick could have turned his head to press his nose into the damp skin on Matt’s neck to breathe him in. He didn’t because that wasn’t the sort of thing they did in public but it was a nice thing to contemplate.

 

“What’s that?” Patrick asked, as he followed Matt off-stage. “A new thing?”

 

Matt grinned at him, euphoric and lovely. “I like it. Do you like it?”

 

“It’s charming,” Patrick said.

 

“I’m very charming,” said Matt.

 

“And you’re the first one to say it,” Patrick remarked.

 

Matt laughed, and in the greenroom Carmen greeted them with the enthusiasm appropriate for her first show, whereas it had apparently already grown routine for everyone else. His girls looked far more interested in the contents of their phones.

 

Matt, when they got back to the hotel room, seemed inclined toward a lazy mood. The girls didn’t even really protest being sent to their room to bed—probably because they would stay up secretly on their phones anyway without Patrick double-checking to make sure, and they probably knew Patrick was going to be lax about double-checking on concert nights—so Patrick walked into their bedroom not long after getting back to the hotel to find Matt sprawled on his back on their bed. He waved a negligent hand at Patrick and commanded, “Make me purr.”

 

“Make you _purr_?” said Patrick, amused.

 

“Yes. Do that thing you do and make me purr.”

 

“I’ve never heard you purr,” Patrick said honestly. “Now I’m disappointed. I wish you would purr at me.”

 

“I purr in my head,” Matt said.

 

“You’re disgusting after a concert,” Patrick said. “You’ve sweated straight through all of your clothes. We could wring them out.”

 

“It’s hot under the lights,” Matt said. “I’m running around. Isn’t it sexy?”

 

“You know what’s sexier?” Patrick opened the en-suite door wider. “Come take a shower with me and I’ll make you purr.”

 

“Good offer,” said Matt.

 

***

 

Later, after he’d succeeded in making Matt purr—at least metaphorically—in the shower, and then Matt had washed Patrick’s hair with an unexpected tenderness that had caught Patrick off-guard and so Patrick returned the favor, they collapsed into bed together. Matt was in a clingy, cuddly mood, the gently receding edge of his high, and he turned into Patrick, nuzzling at skin absently.

 

Patrick on his part felt equally languorous and relaxed, pleased with life, terribly content.

 

“Mmm,” said Matt, skimming his lips along Patrick’s collarbone. “You’re thinking really, really hard. What about?” He paused at Patrick’s ear to worry at it.

 

“I’m really happy.”

 

“Good.” Matt bit lightly at Patrick’s jaw.

 

“And life is funny, all its twists and turns and we end up here and…life is funny, and we’re lucky, and can I ask you something about the kids?”

 

“Of course you can,” said Matt, and stopped nuzzling to settle against Patrick.

 

“I don’t want you to feel, you know, like you _have_ to…be the other dad, or something.”

 

Matt propped himself up. “That’s the second time today someone’s called me ‘the other dad.’ I had to go talk to my therapist about it.”

 

Patrick blinked. “What?”

 

Matt shrugged and then settled himself back down. “It’s no big deal. I have a lot of father issues to deal with. As you know.”

 

Patrick did know. And Patrick also knew that he was pretty sure, even with years of therapy behind him, that Matt was only talking about this so casually now because he was still riding his high. Patrick brushed his thumb up and down Matt’s arm and wondered what the propriety was of asking him what his therapist had said. He said instead, slowly and carefully, turning his words over in his head, “Right. So I don’t want to—”

 

“It’s fine,” Matt said, and he did indeed sound fine. “I have weird issues around the word ‘father,’ right? Like, I’m bad at seeing myself in the role so I don’t know why other people ever would. But I care about your kids. I don’t know what my title is but I care about them and I want them to be happy. Is that okay?”

 

Patrick stared at the ceiling and brushed up and down Matt’s arm and _ached_. “Yeah,” he said around the catch in his throat. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

 

“I talked to Rachel about making sure they don’t get asked about in the meet-and-greets, so that’s taken care of.”

 

“How?”

 

“They won’t get asked about. The VIPs will agree. If they don’t agree, or they break the rule, they lose VIP privileges.” Matt said this lightly and simply, like it was straightforward.

 

Patrick supposed it was.

 

Matt said, “So what do you want to ask me about the kids?”

 

“I…I’ve been listening to you. To your very valid point about how unfair it is to just pretend that there isn’t an issue with Ashley that I have to deal with. So I want to talk to the kids about it. But I initially had in my head that I would talk to them each separately, because I didn’t want them to feel pressure from each other. But something you said made me think…made me think that’s the wrong idea.”

 

“Mmm,” said Matt, sounding sleepy. “They’ll feel ambushed by you.”

 

“Right. Exactly. You said they’re used to being a tight unit, and that they depend on each other for support, and I’m worried if I isolate them I deprive them of the support they’d want for this stressful conversation.”

 

“Yes,” said Matt. “I think that’s right. I think they’d rather have each other. It’s like how we’d rather have each other when we have to deal with uncomfortable things. There’s strength in numbers.”

 

“We didn’t have brothers and sisters,” said Patrick, because they’d both been only children.

 

“No,” agreed Matt. “And I was never sad about that until I met your kids. They’re great to each other. You don’t want to separate them. Forcing people to live without their support structure in place is… They’re too young to do that to them now. Let them have each other.”

 

Patrick thought, about support systems, about being deprived of them, about the Matt he’d met in that bar who had been so lonely and so alone and had felt it so acutely, who still liked an audience to remind him he wasn’t alone anymore.

 

Patrick leaned forward to press his face against Matt’s neck the way he’d wanted to at the end of the concert, breathe him in. Matt hummed happily, and snuggled in closer, and Patrick said, “‘Father’ is a really rough word to define. But whatever it is, you’re great with my kids, and I’m so grateful to have you around.”

 

Matt hummed happily again, and Patrick held him until his breath evened out into sleep.

 

***

 

Matt woke at one point with his head pillowed up against Patrick’s chest and the distinct thought that he was the most comfortable person in the entire universe and he wasn’t ready to get up yet.

 

So he went back to sleep.

 

When he woke up again he was alone in the bed, although he could hear the usual buzz of conversation from the rest of the suite, and he marveled at how much that was becoming _expected_ to him. He _expected_ it, this little entourage of people, and he wasn’t even _paying_ them, they just wanted to be near him. A _family_.                                                            

 

Maybe he had a _family_. A real one. Not a manufactured one.

 

Matt got dressed and went out into the main room of the suite and there was his family, eating breakfast.

 

With an enormous bouquet of red roses spilling out on the table.

 

“Good morning,” the girls said to him, more cheekily than he had expected.

 

“Good morning?” he offered, confused by the reaction. He looked at Patrick.

 

Patrick, in the middle of slicing up pancakes for Adam, nevertheless quirked a smile at him and nudged a small piece of paper toward him.

 

“What’s that?” Matt asked, bewildered.

 

“The card,” said Patrick.

 

“The card for what?” Matt walked over to pick it up.

 

“The _roses_ ,” said Kylie.

 

“The roses?” Matt glanced at the roses. “Those are for me?” Matt looked at the card. _We’re totally going to the L.A. show and heckling you the whole time. Keep it together until then!_ It was signed by all of his fellow judges on “Who Can Sing the Best?” “Oh,” said Matt. “It’s a joke. They’re teasing me. They’re not in love with me.”

 

Patrick gave him a look. “I know they’re not in love with you. The head of a rock star is a very interesting place.”

 

“You’re a rock star, too,” said Matt defensively.

 

“Only nominally,” said Patrick.

 

“What’s ‘nominally’ mean?” asked Hailey.

 

“It means ‘in name only.’”

 

“It means your father is a liar who is definitely a rock star because the main definition of ‘rock star’ is ‘be in a successful rock band’ and that’s what your father is.”

 

“Would we call Swan a rock band?” asked Kylie, with a sweet mock innocence to her tone that Matt recognized, because Patrick could do something similar when he was teasing Matt.

 

“You’re all terrible,” Matt sniffed, and stole some bacon off of Patrick’s plate.

 

He not only had a family, he had a _terrible family_.

 

It was the best thing ever.

 

***

 

“Happy Fourth of July, Trick,” Matt said, after he was done with _Wild Ride_ on their second New York City show.

 

“Happy Fourth of July, Matt,” Patrick replied.

 

Matt sent him a wicked grin. “Do you want to show these people some fireworks?”

 

The crowd cheered raucously.

 

“Now, now,” Patrick demurred. “We save the fireworks for after the show.”

 

Matt was still grinning as he turned back to the microphone. “Patrick Reed,” he said, “The Modest One.”

 

“They say opposites attract,” said Patrick.

 

“Indeed. New York City! I am happy to show you everything I’ve got!” He flung his arms out wide and let the crowd roar approval back at him.

 

Patrick shook his head at his piano and said, “Keep it classy, my kids are in the audience.”

 

“Let’s play it safe and a song,” said Matt.

 

“What a stellar syllepsis,” said Patrick.

 

Matt laughed. “A syllepsis?”

 

“It’s a thing,” said Patrick. “Look it up.”

 

“Isn’t he great?” Matt asked the crowd, who apparently agreed. “Apparently he got a degree in linguistics at some point.”

 

Patrick said, “Let’s play it safe and a song now, Matthew.”

 

“Give me a note,” said Matt, with one last grin in his direction before he tipped toward the microphone.

 

***

 

The fireworks display was spectacular, and Matt, on his concert high, was clearly enjoying it.

 

“I haven’t watched fireworks in _ages_ ,” he enthused, happily munching away on popcorn. A unanimous decision had urged him to take a shower after the concert and before the fireworks, and his hair was still damp and curling in the way it only did when it was wet. Ordinarily Matt spent time on his hair, combed it into artful, sticking-up tousles designed to look unkempt and rakish, but he hadn’t bothered to do anything with it now, and it fell limply and uninterestingly, and it gave Patrick an odd pang in his heart. This was his Matt, his Matt with his defenses down, the Matt he loved, and Matt didn’t look away from the fireworks, and Patrick watched the colors break over Matt’s wondering face. He looked younger than he was, in a way that made Patrick feel strangled on love for him. “Have you been to fireworks?” Matt asked, still not looking at him but clearly wanting to engage him in his happy, cheerful conversation.

 

“I take the kids,” said Patrick.

 

“Oh, right, of course,” said Matt.

 

Patrick had taken the girls last year. Ashley, heavily pregnant, had stayed home, but then, she had usually stayed home. Patrick had taken the girls to see fireworks and it had been one of the last “normal” outings they had had.

 

The fireworks ended and everyone clapped appropriately.

 

Matt said, “That was fantastic.”

 

Carmen said, “Showy. Just your style.”

 

“Takes one to know one,” said Matt pleasantly.

 

They retired to all of their respective hotel rooms, where Patrick relieved Mrs. Honeycutt from watching both Adam and Bach, neither of who were excited about fireworks.

 

“Wait until you get older,” Matt informed Adam, still awake with all the booming going on around him. “You’ll love them. Probably not you, though, Bach. You’ll probably always hate them. Mrs. Honeycutt, I am so very sorry you had to miss the fireworks. How can I make it up to you?” Matt took Mrs. Honeycutt’s hand soulfully between his own.

 

Mrs. Honeycutt was apparently never going to be immune to Matt Usher’s charm. All he had to do was croon that particular way and Mrs. Honeycutt’s eyelids fluttered helplessly. She said, “Oh, no, nothing to make up, I’ve seen many fireworks displays in my day.”

 

“But, Mrs. Honeycutt,” Matt protested, “every fireworks display is different, and every one is special. You cannot let the fireworks of your life pass you by. You cannot dismiss them as if they are _commonplace_.”

 

“You should write a song about it,” Mrs. Honeycutt told Matt, because Mrs. Honeycutt always thought Matt should write a song about everything he said.

 

Mrs. Honeycutt had never remarked upon the fact that Matt and Patrick shared a suite, and Patrick didn’t know if that was willful ignorance on her part or she just didn’t care. Either way, she had signed a standard NDA just to cover her not selling stories to the press about the kids, and it was broad enough to cover him and Matt, so Patrick wasn’t worried. And privately he suspected that Mrs. Honeycutt didn’t notice Matt’s sleeping arrangements because they involved Patrick and hence were boring to her.

 

Matt was in a playfully predatory mood, backing Patrick up against the wall of their bedroom when Patrick had finally gotten everyone else into bed except for them.

 

“What the fuck is a syllepsis?” he asked, and took Patrick’s shirt off him.

 

Patrick grinned. “Play it safe and a song. That’s a syllepsis.”

 

“Take a hint and me,” said Matt, making short work of Patrick’s pants.

 

“You’re on a roll.”

 

“Make me dinner and come.” Matt pulled his own shirt off.

 

“These are terrible, though, please stop.” 

 

“I’m going to write a whole fucking song about them,” Matt panted. “I am going to call this song ‘Syllepsis’ and it’s going to be all about you.”

 

“All your songs are all about me,” said Patrick.

 

“Yes,” said Matt simply, because that was undeniably true.

 

Patrick tackled Matt onto the bed and bit at his neck. Matt moaned extravagantly like he’d been waiting for that particular touch all night. And he probably had been.

 

Patrick said, “Can I meet all your reality TV friends in L.A.?”

 

Matt said, “If you’re very, very good.”

 

“Oh,” said Patrick, “that sounds like a challenge. I’ll get to it and you off.”

 

“Show-off,” said Matt.

 

***

 

_Philadelphia_

 

They were recording in Anna’s tour bus, Matt and Patrick’s being given entirely over to kids, with David and Cora for supervision.

 

Patrick felt guilty about it but at least the drive from New York to Philadelphia wasn’t that long. Surely not long enough for the kids to drive David and Cora too much up the walls.

 

Patrick consented to the film makeup being applied and let himself be mic’ed up and then he settled next to Matt, who was already ready and smiled at him.

 

“Okay,” Matt said. “Where did we leave off?”

 

“Patrick,” Anna said. “I believe you were about to tell us how you ever decided to talk to Matt ever again after that dreadful first meeting.”

 

“Hey,” said Matt, sounding affronted. “I was very charming. Wasn’t I very charming?”

 

“You were…” Patrick paused, studying Matt, trying to think of the word. Because Matt _hadn’t_ been charming. Not then. The Matt who could skillfully wield his charm like a weapon later hadn’t quite developed then. Matt had been charming but not in the studied, manipulative, scheming way that Patrick came to associate with Matt. “You were bright,” Patrick said finally. “You were…so bright. I’d never met anyone who just…” Patrick stopped to turn to the camera. “He had all these dreams, all these plans, and he was so bright with them, like failure wasn’t a possibility, like… I talked to him because I wanted to know more about him.”

 

“Tell me everything,” Matt murmured.

 

***

 

“Tell me everything,” Matt Usher said to him, and the thing was, it seemed almost like a reasonable request at that moment.

 

Patrick wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up here. He’d meant to just go home, but Matt Usher had followed him out, and now Matt Usher was walking down the street beside him, and Patrick wasn’t sure how to get him to go home. His own home. Not Patrick’s.

 

“What?”

 

“ _Everything_ ,” Matt repeated.

 

“About what?”

 

“You,” said Matt.

 

Patrick stopped walking, perplexed. “What?”

 

“That song was amazing. It was really good.”

 

“It was just a song.”

 

“I write songs, too,” said Matt.

 

“How come you didn’t do the open mic night?”

 

“We could write really good songs together.”

 

“We don’t even know each other.”

 

“That’s why I asked you to tell me everything about you,” Matt said patiently. “So we can get to the writing together part.”

 

“Why would we get to the writing together part?” asked Patrick, completely bewildered. He didn’t even know how to keep up his end of the conversation. He didn’t even know if this _was_ a conversation. It might be a hallucination.

 

“Because we’re going to have a band,” said Matt.

 

“ _What_?” said Patrick.

 

“I’ve already got a drummer, she’s really good. And her brother plays the saxophone, which is just, like, ideal. Saxophone is practically my favorite instrument. What’s your favorite instrument?”

 

“The piano.” Patrick was too lost to do anything but honestly respond.

 

“Oh, right,” said Matt. “Of course. I play the piano, too, but, like, I mean, not well, I kind of taught myself, you can totally keep playing the piano if you want.”

 

“What?” said Patrick, who definitely intended to keep playing the piano.

 

“I’ll do, like, the guitar stuff, and we can split the songs up. Singing them, I mean. We can be co-lead-singers—”

 

“I don’t want to be a lead singer,” Patrick found enough clarity to interrupt Matt’s jumble of speech.

 

“Oh,” said Matt. “Right. Really? Because I am more than happy to be lead singer but I don’t want to start us off on a foot of you thinking I’m trying to steal the spotlight or something.”

 

Patrick stared at him. “What spotlight?”

 

“The band’s called Swan,” said Matt.

 

“What band?” said Patrick.

 

“Our band,” Matt answered cheerfully.

 

“We don’t have a band.”

 

“Yes, we do. It’s called Swan.”

 

“You really like swans or something?”

 

“What? No.”

 

“You called your band Swan.”

 

“ _Our_ band. And it’s like the verb. You know. To swan. I’m a big fan of the verb ‘to swan.’”

 

“Yes,” said Patrick drily. “I can totally see that.”

 

Matt, after a brief moment of unprecedented silence, laughed. His laugh was…bright. Everything about him was so _bright_. Standing there on the dark street, he seemed to gleam and shine, his own source of light. Patrick had, all his life, known only people who seemed to carry shadows with them. He’d never met anyone so persistently determined to blast outwards like a supernova.

 

Matt said, “I like you _so_ much.”

 

As if that was a normal thing to say to someone you’d just met.

 

And Matt was an odd person, and Patrick knew that sentence out of him made no sense, but Patrick couldn’t help that he felt like he fell a little bit in love, right there on that street, with this odd, perplexing person he’d just met. Because he wasn’t sure anyone had ever said that to him in his entire life.

 

“Do you want to write a song with me, Patrick?” Matt asked, his smile sunny and dazzling.

 

“Yeah,” Patrick said dazedly, realizing suddenly it was true. “I do.”

 

***

 

“Okay, and then what happened?” Anna asked.

 

“And then we wrote a song,” Patrick said.

 

“Right there on the street?”

 

“No, at Patrick’s,” Matt said. “We went back to Patrick’s.”

 

“On the first night?” Anna asked, and she sounded genuinely surprised.

 

Matt wondered if he’d really never told Anna this story before, and then abruptly realized, _no_ , of course he hadn’t told Anna, he’d told her some vague thing about meeting a guy in a bar, he hadn’t told her he’d wheedled his way up to his apartment, he hadn’t told her he’d realized he’d fallen in love somewhere in the middle of the first verse, he hadn’t told her morning had arrived and the person whose life had been inexorably changed was Matt Usher. He hadn’t told her because he’d told her a version of the story that made him less vulnerable in it. Anna had known a version of the story that made it seem as if Matt and Patrick had become a thing later, instead of some kind of love-at-first-sight whirlwind that had taken Matt’s breath away.

 

Of course, probably the love-at-first-sight whirlwind had made them incapable of surviving the miscommunications that came later.

 

Matt cleared his throat and said, “On the first night.”

 

Patrick said, “Really, Anna, sexual liberation has happened, surely a person can put out on the first night without judgement these days.”

 

Matt knew Patrick meant it as a joke, and that was certainly how Anna took it, but Matt couldn’t make himself laugh, Matt closed his eyes and thought of things he hadn’t thought about it in years, of sitting and watching Patrick at his piano and _wanting_ him in a way he couldn’t articulate or explain and the way he still wanted him, astonishingly, to this day.

 

“Matt,” Anna said gently.

 

Matt opened his eyes and tried a smile. “I’m here. Sorry. It’s a lot to be confronted with the arrogant foibles of one’s youth.”

 

“Hardly arrogant,” Anna said. “Everything you promised went on to become true.”

 

Matt inhaled slowly and consideringly. “Eventually,” he said.

 

***

 

Matt, on a stage in Philadelphia, with his band behind him, closed his eyes and leaned toward the microphone and sang into it, “I want to shatter you into pieces and put you back together in my bed, And it goes both ways, darling, you make me lose my head,” and _felt_ the words the way he hadn’t in a very long time. Patrick had written the first line, Matt had written the second. “Darling” was a Patrick word, a term of endearment that Matt hadn’t realized people still said unironically, but Patrick did, called him “darling,” and Matt had been addicted to it, still was addicted to it, and they’d fucked under Patrick’s piano, heady with love, dizzy with it.

 

They’d used the song on the demo they’d put together at Brie’s request. They’d met Brie first. Really, Anna had met Brie, and Matt had been so ecstatic to have an agent interested in them that he’d forgiven her her odd non sequiturs. But Patrick had always been more patient with Brie than Matt had, so it had made sense, when they had broken up, that Patrick kept Brie and Matt kept Lilah, who had joined them later, after there’d been a record deal signed, after some stylist somewhere had decided that Matt Usher was supposed to be a sex symbol and figured out how to dress him up in clothes that got him the right sort of attention, after Matt had figured out what game he was supposed to play and how to play it, but before all of that—

 

Before all of that there had been this song, which had started it all, in those magical early days when Matt couldn’t see Patrick without wanting to touch him, and couldn’t touch him without wanting to swallow him whole.

 

The song had been a hit, eventually. Not their first hit, which they had given to a less personal song, or even their second, which likewise had been a breezy, playful number. But their third hit, and a bigger hit then either of the first two. There had been a remix that had become a club anthem, and they’d followed it up with _Luck_ , which had catapulted them into the stratosphere, and _then_ , in the wake of the release of the most personal song they had ever written up to that date, then their lives were never the same, and Swan became them and they became Swan, and Matt wasn’t sure they’d ever figured out how to untangle it all, or if it even needed to be.

 

God, his life was a complex mess and he had a sudden moment of panic, in front of this crowd, singing this song, and he listened for Patrick’s piano, and he thought, _He’s right there, he’s counting your breaths for you_ , and he let Patrick’s piano carry him through to the end, and then he kept his eyes closed for a second longer as the crowd cheered.

 

Then he opened them and turned his head to find Patrick, reassuring as he always was.

 

Patrick gave him a questioning look, because Patrick, watching his breaths, would have known he was off, because Patrick _knew_ him, had known him for a very long time, since the night they’d met. Sometimes Matt thought Patrick had known him for even longer than that.

 

Matt looked at the crowd, waiting now for his next move. Behind him Matt could sense David and Anna likewise waiting for him.

 

Matt took a deep breath and said, “Sometimes I sing these songs to all of you and I wonder if it’s possible to actually get fucking drunk on nostalgia.”

 

The crowd whistled at him, Matt imagined in sympathy.

 

“Okay.” Matt physically gave himself a little shake to break out of his weird mood. “Patrick, what comes next?”

                                  

Patrick spoke _Kiss Me Last_ ’s opening lyric into his microphone. “Baby, it’s a certainty that you and I are meant to be.”

 

Matt, startled, because he hadn’t quite been expecting that, chuckled, and then said, “Indeed. Thank you, Mr. Reed.”

 

“Anytime, Mr. Usher.”

 

“David, that’s your cue,” Matt told him, and let David start them off.

 

***

 

Matt pushed Patrick back onto the bed, in a mood to bite and bruise and brand him as Matt’s, except Patrick shook his head, resisting.

 

Matt frowned down at him. “Let me,” he said, and undid Patrick’s pants.

 

“No,” Patrick said. “This high is brittle tonight. I don’t like it.”

 

Matt made a frustrated sound. “Then shatter it for me.”

 

“Matt,” Patrick said, so impossibly gently that Matt wanted to shake him. “I’m right here and I’m yours.”

 

“Fuck you,” Matt snarled at him, making Patrick blink in surprise. “Don’t say that to me like you’ve been here all along, like there aren’t all these nights jumbled in my brain when you were nowhere _near_ me.”

 

Patrick’s eyes were wide and assessing in that _way_ he had. “And what did you do on those nights?”

 

“Fucked somebody else, Patrick. What do you think I did?”

 

“And did that help?”

 

“No, that didn’t fucking help,” Matt snapped. “They weren’t you. None of them were ever fucking you.” Suddenly Matt didn’t want to bite and bruise and brand Patrick. Suddenly Matt hated him. Matt rolled off him and said again viciously, “Fuck you.”

 

Patrick was silent next to him for a long moment.

 

Matt was _so_ annoyed. “Aren’t you going to leave?”

 

“I have left you exactly once,” said Patrick with infuriating calmness. “And never when you were in this sort of mood. I’m writing something for you.”

 

“What?” asked Matt, putting his arm over his eyes to show Patrick how much he didn’t care.

 

Patrick moved off the bed. “I’m just starting. It isn’t much yet. But I’m writing it for you. Well, for you and me, of course. For us to work on together. Which is how we write songs.” Patrick plucked some strings on a guitar. Matt’s guitar, Matt thought. Patrick didn’t travel with a guitar, so he would have to be using Matt’s. Patrick cleared his throat, and then he sang. “You can stumble over words and feet, you can lose your temper and a glove.” It was a very simple melody, clearly still under construction in Patrick’s brain, and the guitar under it was merely a strum every so often, punctuating a word here and there.

 

But that didn’t matter, because the point was the _words_ , as Matt knew Patrick had known, the point had always been Patrick’s words.

 

“You can catch a cold and a train,” sang Patrick, “You can fall behind.” Guitar strum. “And apart.” Guitar strum. “And in love,” Patrick finished gently, not even singing anymore.

 

Matt didn’t know when he’d turned his head to train his eyes on Patrick but he was looking at him now. “You wrote me a song about syllepses.”

 

“I wrote you a few lines. It isn’t much yet.”

 

Matt took a slow, deep breath, thinking. “I’m a thousand different nouns,” he said. “And you’re the verb that takes me as your object.”

 

Patrick put the guitar aside, smiling. “Something like that would work. It needs to be finessed.”

 

“Patrick,” Matt said, but didn’t know what he was asking for.

 

Luckily Patrick did. He slid onto the bed next to him and let Matt tuck himself against him, clinging like a limpet. Matt didn’t realize he was trembling until Patrick was against him, deadly still. Matt felt like Patrick was the shoreline he was buffeting up against, and he just wanted the storm to pass so it wasn’t happening anymore.

 

“Okay,” Patrick said, so soft it was a breath against Matt’s hair, and his hands stroked down Matt’s back, like they were guiding all the tension out of him. “You’re okay. I’m right here.” Patrick’s lips rested in Matt’s hair, and Matt shook and shook, hands twisted tight into Patrick’s shirt. And then Patrick murmured, “I won’t leave you again. You don’t have to worry about being alone. Let it go.”

 

Matt knew that dimly, in the morning, when he was through this mood, he would critically examine this promise, wonder if Patrick meant it, if Patrick really did know that this would be forever this time, if maybe Patrick would say _Let’s get married_ so he could prove it. But right then, shaking against him, Matt didn’t examine it at all. Matt turned harder into Patrick, with a little needy sob, and just greedily let Patrick say it to him, over and over, until he finally fell asleep. _You’re not alone. You won’t have to be alone. I’m right here_.

 

***

 

Matt slept fitfully, the way he did in that mood, and Patrick let him, trying to soothe him out of it whenever he twitched against him. He finally seemed to even out into a calmer sleep as the room was growing light with dawn, and Patrick slipped out of bed and onto the couch in the main living area of the suite, the better to hear Adam when he woke and intercept him before he could wake Matt up. Matt usually slept soundly after a high, but it was less of a certainty after a bad high, and Patrick didn’t want him disturbed now that he finally seemed to have settled.

 

Patrick ended up dozing off on the couch and woke to Adam squawking at random, hoping to be noticed. He gave Patrick a wide smile when Patrick stumbled into his room, and Patrick smiled at him and took both him and Bach for a walk and thought again how much he cherished this him-and-Adam time, before the day really got started.

 

The girls were up when he got back, Kylie supervising the ordering of room service.

 

Patrick said, “Everyone in this family is getting very spoiled.”

 

Kylie said, “It’s summer vacation, we’re supposed to get spoiled on summer vacation.”

 

“You’re supposed to be at some dreadful summer camp getting eaten alive by mosquitoes and paddling canoes,” said Patrick.

 

“Oh, my God,” said Kylie, and rolled her eyes.

 

Patrick put Adam down so he could investigate what his sisters were up to and checked on Matt, still sound asleep. Then he went back into the living area and looked at all three of his girls, sitting on the couch arguing about to watch on television.

 

“What?” Kylie said, feeling his gaze on them.

 

“I need to talk to the three of you,” Patrick said, because he _did_.

 

Kylie turned wide, panicked eyes on him, but Patrick gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and pushed through.

 

“Okay,” he said. “So.”

 

“You’re not actually sending us to a summer camp, are you?” asked Hailey, looking horrified.

 

“No,” Patrick said. “This is nothing bad. It’s okay.”

 

“Is this about you and Matt again?” asked Miranda. “Because it’s seriously okay. We like Matt.”

 

“Matt is _so great_ ,” Hailey agreed fervently.

 

“It’s not about me and Matt, although I’m glad you like Matt. The tour ends in L.A.”

 

“Yeah,” agreed Miranda.

 

“So. I talked to your mother, and she’d like to see all of you, if you’d like to see her.”

 

Miranda and Hailey stared at him in shocked silence. Kylie bit at her thumbnail, a nervous habit he’d really never seen her do before. This conversation was clearly distressing her again, and he flinched at the strength of his desire to just sweep it away.

 

When no one seemed inclined to say anything, he went on. “You don’t have to see her, if you don’t want to. But if you want to, you can see her. I don’t want you to feel pressured either way. I want you to do what you want to do.”

 

There was another moment of silence.

 

“What do you think we should do?” Miranda asked.

 

“What you want,” Patrick answered gently. “I will support whatever decision you make here. And you’re not a package deal, you know. You can make independent decisions about which of you want to go or not go. It doesn’t have to be all or none.”

 

“What does Mom want us to do?” asked Hailey. Her voice trembled a bit but she looked determined to be steady.

 

Patrick said, “Your mother wants to see you. But it doesn’t really matter what she wants. It matters what _you_ want.”

 

“Are you sending Adam to see her?” Kylie asked suddenly, catching Patrick off-guard.

 

“What?”

 

“Adam’s too young to make a decision about it. So what are you doing with Adam?”

 

Patrick looked at Adam, who had managed to obtain control of the television remote in his sisters’ distraction and was now trying his best to figure out how to break it. Patrick honestly hadn’t thought very hard about this. He said slowly, “I don’t know. I think… I think I’m inclined to let her have a few hours with him.”

 

“Really?” retorted Kylie. “After she walked away and abandoned him and never looked back? You think she deserves some time with him, so she can just keep breaking his heart over and over?”

 

Hailey and Miranda, looking awestruck by Kylie’s tone, looked between Kylie and Patrick like this was a tennis match.

 

Patrick said slowly, feeling his way, “I think I’ve walked away and abandoned people in my lifetime who I have been very happy to have forgiven me for that. I think…she’s his mom, and your mom, biologically at least, and I think that I know people who…who would have wanted to have been given a choice about not having access to that relationship. Until Adam can make that choice, I don’t know if I should terminate it for him, unless I think she’s actively harming him in some way, and I don’t know that an afternoon with him is going to do that. Do you know something I don’t know in that regard?”

 

Kylie worried at her thumbnail again before admitting sulkily, “No.”

 

“You don’t have to see her,” Patrick said. He shifted his gaze to take in Hailey and Miranda as well. “None of you have to see her. I won’t judge you or think less of you or anything like that. But if you do want to see her…I also won’t judge you for that, either.”

 

The girls just looked at him silently.

 

Patrick said, “I’m going to let you discuss it amongst yourselves. Not because you need to make the same decision but because you depend on each other, even if you don’t realize it, and you’re the only people who know what this feels like, so you should talk to each other about it.” And then, being stubborn about denying himself the desire to eavesdrop, he walked back into his bedroom and shut the door.

 

Then, with a heavy sigh, he crawled tiredly onto the bed with Matt.

 

Matt, with a sleepy smile, opened his eyes and focused on him briefly. “Hi,” he said, and closed his eyes again.

 

He seemed better but then he usually was in the morning. It was Patrick who felt emotionally wrung out at the moment. “Matt,” Patrick said, and then just _took_ , because he could, because he needed to be held and Matt was there and Patrick tucked himself tight up against him, breathing him in.

 

Matt said, voice still rough with sleep, “Hey. I’m right here. I’m yours. You’re not alone.”

 

***

 

_Washington, D.C._

 

The knock on the door interrupted Rachel in the middle of reading through the proposal from _People_.

 

Carmen said, “How are you still in here working? We’re doing a tour of the entire country, there’s something new to see every day, and you’re in here _working_.”

 

“Because we’re not doing a tour of the entire country,” Rachel said, “ _Swan_ is doing a tour of the entire country, and I’m supporting them.”

 

“They’re grown-ups,” Carmen said. “Have you noticed? They don’t need support.”

 

Rachel gave her a look. “Are we talking about the same group of people? They need a lot of support.”

 

“I’m talking about this group of people that’s having a lot of sex. Maybe that’s what you should do. Let’s go on the town in D.C. and find you someone to have sex with.”

 

“How would that even happen?”

 

“People do it all the time,” Carmen said, but then relented at the look on Rachel’s face. “ _Ay_ , never mind, at least come look at phallic rockets at the Air and Space Museum with me and we can make fun of the male obsession with penises. I’ve always wanted to do that and I never have.”

 

“Really? I find that difficult to believe.”

 

“Well, no, obviously I do that all the time, but never at the Air and Space Museum. The one time I went to the Air and Space Museum it was with Rodrigo and he didn’t understand the humor. The story of our ex-marriage. Come on, put your work aside for a bit and have fun. We can even check in on everyone before you go so you can see they’re absolutely fine.”

 

“I have to talk to them anyway,” Rachel relented, grabbing the proposal from _People_. “So we can make sure everything’s under control.”

 

***

 

The suite was chaos. The result of having every member of Swan plus family crammed into it, plus Bach, plus Mrs. Honeycutt. Patrick was trying to make sure Adam’s bag was packed with everything they were going to need, and Kylie was complaining that her phone just needed to charge for two more minutes, and Cora said suddenly, “Is someone knocking at the door?” and then opened the suite’s door on Rachel and Carmen.

 

Rachel looked bewildered. “What is happening in here?”

 

“We’re going sight-seeing,” Anna answered. “I mean, I think that’s an optimistic view of what’s going to happen this afternoon but that’s what we’re calling it.”

 

“We are going to educate the children about our nation’s capital,” said Patrick.

 

“We’re going to show them how to bribe a public official with alacrity,” said Matt.

 

“Matt’s being resident cynic today,” said Patrick.

 

“That’s not every day?” said Matt.

 

“Aww, Matt, you know so little about yourself,” said Anna. “Even after years of therapy.”

 

Matt frowned at her.

 

Anna said to Carmen and Rachel, “So. Care to come sight-seeing with us?”

 

“Rachel and I are going on our own sight-seeing trip,” Carmen said. “It’s going to involve phallic objects at the Air and Space Museum.”

 

“What’s ‘phallic’?” asked Hailey.

 

“God,” said Kylie, sounding mortified.

 

Rachel said, “Okay, I hate to delay the trip but I have business to talk to you about.”

 

“Rachel,” Carmen sighed.

 

“I do, and this can’t wait, because we’d have to put it on your schedule for Atlanta.”

 

“What is it?” asked Matt.

 

“ _People_ wants an interview. They want a cover story. I think it’s a good idea, because not all the shows are sold out yet and we could use the publicity push—”

 

“ _People_ wants an interview with all of us?” said David. “Or _People_ wants an interview with Mattrick?”

 

Rachel hesitated enough to answer that question, then said, “But I’ll push back, of course, and tell them that Swan is—”

 

“No, no,” said David, laughing, shaking his head. “Please don’t. Anna and I want no part of that.”

 

“Christ, no,” Anna agreed fervently. “We stay out of all the publicity we can. Let them have Mattrick.”

 

Matt looked at Patrick, unsure what Patrick’s stance would be. Matt had, until that point, handled all of the press himself, because he liked it and everyone else liked to stay out of it. He said, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

 

Patrick looked at Rachel. “They want a Mattrick interview, right? The first Mattrick joint interview in many, many years. That’s what _People_ wants.”

 

“Can you blame them?” asked Rachel, with a little twist of her lips.

 

Patrick looked back at Matt, who had kept his eyes steadily on him. Then Patrick nodded briefly, before turning back to Rachel. “Nothing about my kids. We’re keeping them out of it.”

 

“Got it,” Rachel nodded. “I’ll negotiate with them about it.”

 

“After your museum outing,” Patrick said.

 

“What?”

 

“It’s a pretty straightforward request that shouldn’t give them any issue. Matt and I will talk about our unhealthy selves to their hearts’ content. The kids stay out of it. And _People_ , having won the first Mattrick interview in over fifteen years, will be delighted and can wait until sight-seeing is over. Kylie, your phone is as charged as it’s going to be, we’re heading out so we have time to see at least one museum before sound check.”

 

Matt watched Patrick organize the rest of the family, and get them out of the suite, and the whole operation was hot because Patrick was hot in take-charge mode, and also they were the most obvious people who ever were and the baseball hats they were all wearing were not going to cut down on their recognizability at all.

 

Matt was thinking that, watching them mill around on the corner waiting for the walk sign, when Anna said beside him, “So you slept with him that first night.”

 

Matt, startled, glanced around him but realized no one was paying attention to them. Then he said intelligently, “What?”

 

“Matt,” said Anna. “You never told me that. You literally never said that. You told me you met some songwriter you were going to add to the group. You didn’t… You always made it seem like it happened later.”

 

“I know,” said Matt.

 

“Why?” asked Anna after a moment.

 

The walk sign changed. Everyone else embarked across the street. Matt took a deep breath and said to Anna, “This isn’t for the documentary.”

 

“Of course not. I just didn’t expect that I didn’t know the story already. And you’re not usually good at keeping secrets.”

 

Matt said, “Because it seemed too ridiculous to be true. And too perfect to be true. I didn’t want to say it out loud for fear you would make me realize how ridiculous it was. And because it seemed like the kind of thing that was…that was just ours, at just that moment, and I…” Matt shrugged.

 

Anna’s expression was fond and sweet. “I always knew you fell in love with him at first sight. It was always evident in the way you behaved around him. I just never knew you had it in you to do something about it. I’m proud of you.” Anna gave him a playful little punch on the arm.

 

There was a whistle from across the street, David shouting for them to hurry up, and they dashed across just before the light changed.

 

Patrick was having a disagreement with Miranda about having to wear her hat so he was distracted but when he noticed Matt looking at him he still smiled at him, and Matt wasn’t sure if he’d fallen in love at first sight at that open-mic night but he did know that he’d been in love by the time Patrick pressed his first piano key.

 

***

 

Matt was in love by the time Patrick pressed his first piano key.

 

Matt had never been in love before. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected it to feel like. But he thought it was definitely this. It was watching Patrick’s hands on his piano keys, in this cozy, cluttered room where Patrick barely had a bed but had made room for a piano, and never wanting to leave. He wanted to move in, ask Patrick to find him a space in a corner somewhere and just let him sit there drinking him in.

 

Matt hadn’t spent much of his life wondering who he would fall in love with. Matt had spent his life with A Plan. And when your plan was to become an internationally renowned rock star, and when you were entirely alone with no one to help you out with that plan, there wasn’t a whole lot of room to worry about sex. Sex happened when it happened, and Matt wrote his songs about sex, and Matt didn’t think about love.

 

Matt probably wouldn’t have thought about falling in love with a guy, not because he was opposed to it, but because, well, he supposed the default, the assumption, that everyone always presented him with was that there would be a girl at some point, somewhere. Patrick felt like crashing headlong into a truck he’d never seen coming. He stared at him, feeling wide-eyed and inept, and wanted to kiss him: the freckles across his cheeks, the firm set of his lips that Matt could already tell were given to all different sorts of smiles, the light ginger stubble across his jaw. Matt wanted to pull Patrick’s piano-playing fingers into his mouth and suck. Matt wanted to crawl under Patrick’s piano and pretend he knew how to give head. Matt just _wanted_.

 

Patrick said, “Hello?”

 

Matt blinked and looked at him, wondering if he’d said any of that out loud. “What?” he stammered.

 

“I was asking you how you wanted to do this.”

 

“How I want to do it?” Matt asked wildly, wondering if he was going to be brave enough to say _Jesus Christ, any way you want, just touch me_.

 

“The song,” Patrick said slowly, lifting his eyebrows. “Didn’t you want to write a song?”

 

“I want to write a million songs,” Matt heard himself say breathlessly. “I want to write a _million_ songs.”

 

Patrick’s grin was a little quizzical but also looked charmed and Matt wanted to live in it. “Okay,” said Patrick. “We can start with one.”

 

“I’ve been looking for a home,” said Matt, “and something about your smile makes me think I could move right in.”

 

Patrick stilled on the piano bench, assessing him in a quiet, intense way that Matt wasn’t sure what to make of. What did people see when they looked at Matt Usher? Matt had never been entirely sure.

 

“Can I use your guitar?” Matt asked, already grabbing for it, and tried out a melody, plucking out some chords to go with it, singing haltingly, “I’ve been looking for a home, and something about your smile makes me think I could move right in.”

 

“Oh,” said Patrick. “I see. But you’d be better like this.” Patrick picked up Matt’s melody and played it back to him, but shifting it just slightly, and it _was_ better, better-tempoed, more plaintive.

 

Matt said, “That was good. That was really good.”

 

“Don’t sound so surprised,” said Patrick, with a little laugh. “You wanted to write a song.” Patrick suddenly starting singing. “I’ve been on the road too long and your laugh feels like the welcome mat that I’ve been missing.” He stopped playing. “Or something. There’s not enough syllables in there.”

 

Matt stared at him. Matt just stared and stared. He’d never stared at anybody so much in his life. He felt like he’d never be able to look at anyone else ever again.

 

Patrick said, “You don’t like it?”

 

“I love it. I’ve just never… I’ve never written a song with someone before.”

 

“Neither have I,” said Patrick, with a little shrug, like this wasn’t momentous. “Can I ask you something?”

 

“Yeah,” said Matt. “Of course.”

 

“Why do you need someone else in this band? It sounds like you’ve got it covered.”

 

Matt had thought the same thing. Now he said, “It needed a Patrick.”

 

Patrick laughed. “Okay. You’ve got me. I’m here, writing a song with you. You don’t have to keep up with the lines.”

 

“You’ll join the band?” Matt asked.

 

“I’ll _meet_ the band,” Patrick said.

 

Matt decided that was good enough. He had time here. Patrick was giving him all sorts of openings.

 

Maybe he should kiss him, thought Matt. But that seemed too much. Too hasty, too forward. He didn’t want Patrick to think he wasn’t interested in his musical talent. He was totally interested in his musical talent. He wanted him in the band. Definitely. He also just wanted him. But…who wouldn’t want Patrick? Probably Patrick had people throwing themselves at him. Probably Patrick didn’t even like guys that way. Who even knew? Matt could fuck up Swan with some kind of fumbling kiss. Matt didn’t even _know_ how to kiss guys. Did he have to do it differently? He had zero clue.

 

Patrick said, “There’s something off about that melody. The phrasing, listen to it.” Patrick played it again.

 

Matt said suddenly, “Do you have roommates?”

 

Patrick smiled. “I do. They work nights, or have serious significant others somewhere else, so that I can play at night and not bother people.”

 

“This is a fantastic set-up,” Matt said.

 

“Do you get in trouble for playing late at night?” Patrick asked.

 

“Not exactly,” Matt hedged. “Okay, play it for me again, because I think it can be fixed with a couple of extra eighth notes, actually.”

 

Patrick played it again. Matt countered. Patrick suggested a move that could lead to a refrain. Matt dug out Patrick’s composition paper and scrawled notes over it. Patrick mocked Matt’s penmanship, laughing. Matt told him to shut up and made him make room for him on the piano. Patrick let Matt take up half the keys. Matt let Patrick take over lyric inscription. Patrick let Matt write in harmony for him. Matt let himself shudder internally with _Patrick Patrick Patrick_ every time Patrick so much as breathed.

 

There was dawn creeping through the window. There was most of the best song Matt had ever written. There was Patrick, hair tousled into curling cowlicks that were somehow the most attractive thing Matt had ever seen. Matt stared at him. They were sitting next to each other on the piano bench, mashed up close together, and Patrick at this distance was all Matt could see.

 

Patrick said, sounding pleased, “It’s really not a bad effort,” and turned to look at Matt, a wry sweet smile, and then…didn’t look away.

 

Matt knew he didn’t imagine Patrick’s eyes dropping Matt’s mouth because Matt was paying much too close attention to miss anything about Patrick. Matt thought to himself furiously, _Fuck you, Matt Usher, you should have made a move on some stupid inconsequential person so that the first move of your life wasn’t with_ Patrick _,_ because why had he always just let other people do all the work? He wasn’t entirely sure what to do here, except that he didn’t want this moment to pass, he wanted to stay here in it, so he couldn’t let Patrick look away.

 

He launched himself at Patrick, clumsy and overeager, but he didn’t care. He was aiming for Patrick’s mouth and he got there, got a hand into Patrick’s hair, pressed a fervent shaking kiss to Patrick’s lips and tried not to feel like the entirety of his life was caught up in the heartbeat before Patrick said thickly, “Fuck,” and then caught Matt up and _kissed_ him.

 

Patrick had it exactly right, Matt thought, dizzy and disoriented. _Fuck, fuck fuck_ , he thought, it was the best kiss of his entire life, Patrick was perfect, he was _perfect_ , and Matt couldn’t get close enough, the piano bench was constricting and awkward, he tried to get closer and ended up landing a hand on the keys in a discordant jangle that didn’t stop the rhythmic sweep of Patrick’s tongue at all.

 

Matt wanted more, wanted more, wanted more. He got Patrick’s jeans unbuttoned, their mouths panting against each other for breath, unwilling to fully relinquish the kiss. Matt got a hand around him and stroked. Patrick jerked and accidentally bit Matt’s lip, not hard enough to draw blood but hard enough to make Matt whine and not even care that he did. He stroked at Patrick, wanting to make him feel the best he ever had, wanting to give him the orgasm of his fucking _life_.

 

“Faster?” Matt asked, because he would have wanted it faster.

 

“Jesus,” Patrick gasped, dropping his head back.

 

Matt sucked a mark onto the expanse of neck he was presented with, keeping up his rhythm, and Patrick groaned and lifted his hands to pull at Matt’s hair and say, “Yes, yes, God, that’s so good,” and Matt’s rhythm stuttered and he tried to take a deep breath and found his way to Patrick’s collarbone, biting at it. Patrick said, “ _Matt_ ,” and came and Matt thought he should probably die because things were never going to get better than this.

 

Matt’s hand was covered in come that he wasn’t sure what to do with, and Patrick was gasping for breath next to him, and Matt didn’t know what he was supposed to do, so he kept his face in Patrick’s neck and said seriously, because he didn’t want Patrick to think he’d set this all up, “I want you to know I really am interested in you for your musical talent.”

 

Patrick laughed a little bit, too breathless to get any energy behind it, and then said, “Christ, where did you _come_ from?”

 

“Rochester,” Matt said truthfully.

 

Patrick suddenly shoved him off the bench, back onto the chair next to it where Matt had started off sitting, and Matt, startled and off-balance, put his hand out without thinking and smeared come across the chair’s arm.  

 

Not that it mattered, it seemed, because Patrick kissed him hard and said, “Fuck, you’re incredible, you make me want to blow your mind.”

 

“Done,” Matt said helplessly, because it was true.

 

Patrick grinned down at him, a wolfish sort of grin that eventually Matt intellectually would learn promised amazing things. Matt’s body apparently already knew physically that it promised amazing things, because his cock literally throbbed at the sight of it. Patrick said, “Okay, let me see about other ways of blowing you, then.”

 

And then he settled between Matt’s knees and blew him. Just like that. Matt stared in shock at Patrick’s red head settling over him, swallowing him deep, shifting to be able to cast his eyes up toward him, and Matt lasted approximately three seconds.

 

And then Patrick kissed him again, open-mouthed, so Matt could taste himself on Patrick’s tongue, and Matt whimpered, feeling completely destroyed.

 

Patrick pulled back. Patrick smiled at him. Patrick stroked a hand over Matt’s hair.

 

Matt said, “God. I want to write a _million_ songs.”

 

“We can do that,” Patrick said. “I think we can do that.”

 

Matt couldn’t breathe. There was a possibility he was having a heart attack. But it was an excellent way to go.

 

“Can we sleep first?” Patrick asked.

 

***

 

On another stage, in front of another audience, Patrick just behind him and to his right, where he always was, where he had always been, since the night they had met, and yeah, there had been a long interlude without Patrick but they’d found their way back now, they were right there.

 

Mattrick.

 

They had _Forever_ in front of them, and Matt didn’t always do an introduction for _Forever_ , because sometimes he liked to just let it hit the audience with Anna’s drum intro. But word had gotten out that Swan had added _Forever_ to its setlist, so there wasn’t much of a surprise anymore, and anyway tonight Matt felt like he had things to say.

 

“I don’t know how many of you know this,” Matt said to the audience, and then said, “Who am I kidding, all of you know this because you’re all proper Swan super-fans, right?”

 

The crowd cheered agreement with him.

 

“Patrick Reed over there, _as you know_ , is classically trained.”

 

Patrick rolled his eyes and shook his head a little bit, indulgent.

 

“When I met him, he used to say things to me like, ‘Well, this melody you’ve just written is reminiscent of Chopin’s eighteenth sonata.’”

 

“I have never said that,” Patrick said, “because Chopin doesn’t have an eighteenth sonata.”

 

“See what I mean?” Matt asked the laughing crowd. “Anyway, the reason I mention this—”

 

“You’re not going to ask me to play Chopin, are you?” asked Patrick.

 

Matt, surprised, looked over at him, grinning and genuinely curious. “Could you?”

 

“No,” said Patrick. “I haven’t played any Chopin since I met an irresponsible rock star who convinced me I should join a band.”

 

Matt laughed. “And look how that turned out.”

 

“Indeed,” said Patrick drily.

 

Matt said, “I’m not going to make you play Chopin.” Matt looked back out at the crowd. “I’m going to make him play _Forever_. You know why?” Matt shouted over the applause that met his statement. “Because you should always have Patrick Reed play any song you compose, he makes them sound a thousand times better. Here we go, A.J.”

 

Anna launched into the opening drum riff before Patrick could respond.

 

***

 

Matt was in the middle of a good high, much better than the desperate mood Matt had been in after the Philadelphia concert, and Patrick was relieved. Their sex was fun and playful and they made each other laugh and Matt was snuggly, like a house cat. Patrick thought of Matt saying that Patrick made him purr and suddenly understood what Matt had meant by that.

 

“I love you,” Patrick murmured to him, kissing his temple, because he did, and he knew Matt knew that but he liked to say it.

 

“Mmm,” Matt said, snugging in closer. “How many songs do you think we’ve written together?”

 

“Oh, God,” said Patrick, letting his fingers drift up and down Matt’s arm. “I don’t know. I’ve lost count. Do you know?”

 

“I wanted to write a million, remember?”

 

Patrick smiled up at the ceiling. “I remember. We’ve got time to hit your target.”

 

“Yeah, we do,” sighed Matt.

 

Patrick thought of Matt, twenty years younger, still brand new in his life, and marveled at the twists and turns they’d had in store.

 

He fell asleep to Matt’s breaths against him.

 

***

 

Patrick fell asleep to Matt’s breaths against him, and woke up to Matt muttering, “Fuck.”

 

Patrick opened his eyes and turned to see Matt on his hands and knees, fishing under the piano for something. His shoe, Patrick saw, when Matt crawled his way back out.

 

“Are you sneaking out?” Patrick asked, stretching languorously.

 

Matt jumped, startled, dropping his shoe. “Oh. I didn’t—I mean—Not really—I didn’t know if I was supposed to.” Matt had the world’s most expressive eyes, wide and dark and liquid. Patrick had looked at them last night, next to him at the piano, looking rumpled and tired and not as put-together, and had felt completely helpless. He had thought Matt attractive in an objective way, someone who should have been on the cover of a magazine. And then, by the time it was morning and they’d been up all night together writing, Patrick had looked at him and thought him the most beautiful, alluring, seductive, irresistible thing he’d ever seen. And those _eyes_ , with entire universes in them. They looked now lost and uncertain and heartbreakingly vulnerable. Patrick wanted to bundle him up and kiss those eyes closed so he’d stop revealing so much. “I don’t usually do this,” said Matt.  

 

“Go home with a random stranger? I do it every open-mic night.”

 

“Oh,” said Matt, still sitting on the floor uncertainly.

 

“I’m joking,” Patrick said. “I was trying to make you smile. You look panicked.”

 

“I’m not,” said Matt, clearly panicked.

 

Patrick looked at him thoughtfully, trying to read him. He didn’t _think_ the source of Matt’s panic was regret. He thought Matt really didn’t know what he was supposed to do next, and he had the impression that the person who had confidently told him he was joining a band didn’t often feel uncertain of his next move.

 

Patrick said, testing the waters, “Look, if you think we shouldn’t have—”

 

Matt’s dark eyes widened and he practically pounced onto the bed with Patrick, shaking his head. “No, no. No. I think we absolutely should have done this. I think we should do a lot more of…” Matt waved his hand around, in between himself and Patrick. “This.”

 

Patrick smiled. He was a little worried he might be utterly besotted, given how charming he was finding Matt at the moment. But that was a worry for another time, a time when Matt wasn’t warm and inviting and on his bed with him. He said, “Good. Stay. Let’s do more of this,” and drew a finger along Matt’s collarbone.  

 

“I just…” The panic was back in Matt’s eyes. “I’ve never done this before.”

 

“Picked up a guy at the open-mic night? I’m flattered.” Patrick _had_ secretly been wondering. Matt had done it so smoothly, with such haughty confidence. But Matt’s obvious apprehensiveness now had thrown Patrick’s doubts out the window. Matt was not behaving like someone who engaged in a lot of casual hook-ups.

 

“Picked up a _guy_ ,” said Matt.

 

Patrick blinked and made everything in his head recalibrate. No wonder Matt seemed fluttery, ready to fly out the window. Patrick said slowly, “Oh. Okay. Then I’m even more flattered.” Then he considered Matt closely. “Are you have a sexual crisis?” He didn’t look it, Patrick didn’t think that Matt’s panic was anything other than horror at being unprepared for the next moment.

 

“No,” Matt said, and Patrick believed him. “I think maybe this is the first day in a long time I’m _not_ having a sexual crisis. I just…wanted to prepare you for the possibility that I might not be very good at…this.”

 

Patrick looked at his watch. “I’ve known you for fifteen hours, and even I can tell that admitting you’re not good at something is not a very Matt Usher thing.”

 

“I’m just usually good at everything.”

 

“Matt,” said Patrick. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about right now, because so far you’ve been pretty fucking excellent at everything and it’s pretty fucking annoying.”  

 

Matt said, “ _Me_? _You’re_ like a…four-leaf clover.”

 

“Did you choose that simile because of my red hair?”

 

“Maybe subconsciously.”

 

“Matt,” said Patrick, _completely_ besotted, “you should get undressed again.”

 

Matt pulled his shirt over his head.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was only going to post again when I was done, but apparently this fic is just going to be THE LONGEST STORY EVER TOLD. And I wrote this bit where it ends and thought, Wow, that is such a perfect chapter ending. So it's going up. 
> 
> MAYBE ONE MORE CHAPTER. WHO KNOWS.

_Atlanta_

 

Matt woke to a mouth on his cock. Which was really quite the loveliest way to wake up.

 

Patrick wasn’t usually a wake-up blowjob sort of guy. Matt was far more likely to initiate that, to look at Patrick sleeping and just mouth-water with the desire to pounce on him. When Patrick woke before Matt, he usually just slid out of bed. The lack of wake-up blowjobs wasn’t the sort of thing Matt would ever think to consciously complain about, but still, waking up to being thoroughly sucked off took him a little by surprise with its magnificence. He hadn’t realized _how_ much he was going to like that.

 

He pawed clumsily at Patrick, now heavy with both sleep and an orgasm, tugging him into an uncoordinated kiss that Patrick smiled into, a teasing curve to his lips.

 

“Thank you,” Matt said, trembling with delight to the tips of his toes.

 

Patrick gave him a rueful look, kissed the tip of Matt’s nose, and said, “Fuck, I should do that for you more often, you _loved_ that.”

 

“It was a Patrick blowjob,” Matt said. “I don’t generally say no to one of those.”

 

“No.” Patrick shook his head. “You _loved_ it. You should see the way you’re looking at me right now.”

 

“I don’t always look at you like this?”

 

“No,” Patrick said.

 

“Hmm,” said Matt. “That’s too bad. I should.”

 

“You live hard, you know,” Patrick said. “When you sleep, you sleep hard. I never want to wake you up, when you’re sleeping soundly and peacefully, because I know there are nights you can’t get there, and I know those moments are precious to you. So I don’t wake you up. I let you sleep.”

 

“That’s fine. I’m not complaining.” Matt let his eyes close, wanting to float in delight for a little while longer. “Christ, I’m not complaining about _anything_ right now.”

 

Patrick kissed him, and he tried to kiss him back through a swirl of sleepiness and sex.

 

“What time’s it?” Matt mumbled against Patrick’s mouth. “Should we get up? Should we let me do something about that hard-on of yours?”

 

“You should go back to sleep,” Patrick said. “It’s too early to get up. By which I mean it’s near Adam’s wake-up time.”

 

“Mmm,” said Matt, and then gathered enough energy to push Patrick over onto his back and stretch out over him. “You’ve got to get that kid to start sleeping later.” Matt bit the spot behind Patrick’s ear that always made him gasp.

 

Patrick gasped. “We have a photo shoot today.”

 

Matt curved his lips into a smile against Patrick’s skin. “That’s why you kissed me so very carefully.”

 

“I’m always thinking of the make-up artists,” Patrick said breathlessly, his hands in Matt’s hair.

 

Matt thought, _Fuck that_. Matt thought of going into a photo shoot with Patrick with a hickey on Patrick’s neck that Matt had put there, and maybe no one would _know_ it was Matt’s handiwork, but there would be suspicions, and _Matt_ would know, Matt would know that Patrick didn’t let people who weren’t him anywhere near enough to do that. Matt said against Patrick’s neck, “Patrick.” Which they both knew was a request for permission.

 

Patrick swore under his breath, then said, “Just fucking do it.”

 

Matt grinned and sucked a mark onto Patrick’s neck and then sat back to admire his handiwork.

 

Except Patrick didn’t let him, reaching out and grabbing him and pulling him down for a kiss that surprised Matt by being just this edge of savage. Maybe, Matt thought, he wasn’t the only one feeling possessive. Maybe that was why he’d been woken with a surprise blowjob.

 

Patrick rolled to put Matt back underneath him and kept kissing him, hard and bruising, clearly no longer worrying about stubble burn. Matt tried to meet him kiss for kiss and tugged at his clothing and then Adam started crying.

 

Patrick put his head down against Matt’s shoulder, breathing hard. “Fuck.”

 

Matt stared up at the ceiling over his head, trying to catch his own breath, and stroked his fingers through Patrick’s wrecked hair. “Sorry.”

 

Patrick laughed. “For what?”

 

“I don’t know,” Matt said. “The general state of the universe?” Patrick lifted his head, grinning at him, and Matt felt like he got his bearings. “Being too irresistible?”

 

“Definitely that,” said Patrick, and kissed him again. “Apologize for that all the time. I have to go. Go back to sleep.” Patrick rolled out of his bed.

 

Matt said, “I will take care of that later, I promise,” and gestured to Patrick’s crotch.

 

“Thanks, I’ll let it know,” said Patrick drily, and then walked out of the room.

 

Matt smiled after him, and turned his head into his pillow, and considered going back to sleep. But he felt wide awake and thrumming with energy, on that buzzing edge when he really wanted to be touched by Patrick, and he decided to give up on the idea of sleeping. He would find Patrick wherever he was with Adam and curl up next to him and let his touch ground him.

 

Except that the suite’s living room was deserted and quiet. From the lack of dog, Matt deduced that Patrick probably took Bach and Adam out for a walk. Which was a smart thing to do, but Matt collapsed onto the sofa feeling a little dejected.

 

He had maybe dozed off a bit, because he felt like he jerked awake when Hailey came into the room, rubbing at her eyes.

 

“Where’s my dad?” she asked, as she clambered onto the couch with him.

 

“I think he took Bach and Adam out for a walk,” Matt said, watching as she settled into a cuddle against him and unsure what to do.

 

She took an odd hitching little breath and said, “I had a bad dream.”

 

“Oh,” Matt said, realizing that this called for him to offer comfort, obviously, because he understood these things. He’d just never had a kid to offer comfort to before, so he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. He put an arm around Hailey and gave her a little squeeze. “Well. You’re awake now. And you’re safe. What was it about?”

 

Hailey took another breath. “People leaving.”

 

Matt knew how those nightmares went. “Yeah,” he said. “Those are the worst.”

 

“How do you make them better?” Hailey asked.

 

Matt considered. “Well. I’m right here. And your dad’ll be back any minute, and then he will do a much better job with this whole situation.”

 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Hailey said.

 

And Matt _was_ glad he was there, because the worst was to wake up to a dream like that and find out it was real and you _were_ alone. He knew all about that.

 

They were still for so long that eventually Hailey fell back asleep against him, her breaths deep and even. When Patrick came in with Adam and Bach, Matt had to try to push Bach away to keep her from leaping on Hailey and waking her up.

 

Patrick lifted his eyebrows and said in a low voice, “What happened here?” even as Adam shouted, “Ma! Ma!” at Matt, which kind of defeated the purpose of trying to be quiet.

 

“She had a nightmare,” Matt explained, as Hailey stirred against him and caught sight of Patrick.

 

“Dad,” she said, sounding pleased to see him. “You’re back.”

 

“I’m back,” said Patrick, handing Adam to Matt absently so he could focus on Hailey. “What happened?”

 

“I woke up and you weren’t here,” Hailey said accusingly, even as she threw her arms around his neck and snuggled him.

 

“I took Bach for a walk. And Matt was here.”

 

“Yeah, good thing, too, he did your whole job for you,” said Hailey.

 

Patrick smiled at Matt over Hailey’s head, the sort of smile that made Matt’s heart stop for that squeezing, enormous moment when everything was too big and too much.

 

***

 

“What do you think they’ll ask you about in the interview?” Hailey asked with interest, watching Patrick as he frowned at the way the collar of his shirt didn’t quite cover the outer edge of Matt’s love-bite that morning. Which had absolutely been Matt’s intention, Patrick knew.

 

“Probably songwriting,” Patrick answered. “They like to ask us about that.”

 

Matt came out of the bathroom with his hair beautifully tousled, and he looked a great deal like a rock star, and Patrick felt like he didn’t understand how that beautiful creature had chosen him. Waking up next to a sex symbol never got any less bewildering, Patrick thought.

 

Hailey said, “They’ll probably ask about how long it took you to learn the piano. I am _so_ behind.” Hailey sighed dramatically.

 

Patrick pulled his gaze from Matt, who was now fussing with getting his sleeves rolled up to just the perfect length, and looked at Hailey on the bed. “Behind on what?”

 

“On _learning music_ ,” Hailey said impatiently, distressed by how slow Patrick was on the uptake.

 

Matt looked over at her. “I didn’t start learning the piano until I was thirteen, so you’ve got time.”

 

Hailey glared thunderously. “I don’t want to wait until I’m _thirteen_.”

 

“You’re not going to wait until you’re thirteen,” Patrick promised, feeling awful about how much all of his children’s needs had gotten overshadowed this summer. “Look.” He sat on the bed next to her. “We’ll grab ourselves piano time this week, okay? I promise.”

 

Hailey looked dubious.

 

There was a knock on the hotel room door, and Miranda shouted, “I’ll get it!”

 

“See who it is first!” Patrick called back. He kissed Hailey’s head by way of trying to reassure her some more, then stood to walk out into the living room.

 

“It’s Rachel,” Kylie said, barely looking up from her phone, and Rachel was indeed standing in the middle of the room.

 

“Look at you two,” Rachel said, and Patrick glanced over his shoulder at Matt, who had followed him out. “You look like rock stars.”

 

“Neat trick,” Matt remarked drily, “since we are some.”

 

“So I hate that I have to say this but _People_ had to cancel.”

 

Matt’s eyes narrowed. “They had to cancel?”

 

“They are hugely apologetic, the reporter had a family issue, they want to reschedule for Orlando.”

 

“No,” Patrick said immediately.

 

Rachel looked at him.

 

Matt said, “You want to punish _People_ for pushing us?”

 

“No. I’m sure they had a family issue, and I understand family issues. But Orlando is Adam’s birthday.” Patrick gestured to where Adam was concentratedly eating Cheerios. “And we’re going to Disney World for the day before the concert.”

 

“We’re going to Disney World?” all three of his girls said in high-pitched unison, and then immediately began screeching in enthusiasm.

 

Patrick winced and said, “Okay, okay,” but he couldn’t help but grin as they bounced around him.

 

Matt looked amazed. “Have you never taken your kids to Disney World before, Trick?”

 

“I have,” Patrick said drily. “They act like this every time.”

 

“You took us _twice_ ,” said Kylie, “and both times we were too young to really enjoy any of the rides. This is _great_. Why didn’t you tell us? We have to be planning!”

 

“I wanted it to be a birthday surprise,” Patrick said.

 

“Happy birthday, Adam!” Hailey told Adam excitedly.

 

Adam didn’t look as if he knew what was going on but he was thrilled everyone else around him seemed to be excited.

 

“Move _People_ to Houston,” Matt told Rachel. “We’re going to Disney World.”

 

***

 

The interview being moved meant that they had the day unexpectedly free, and Matt, thinking of Hailey sulking that morning, said to Patrick after Rachel had departed, “You know.”

 

“No,” said Patrick. He was trying to keep Adam from eating some exciting lint he’d found under the couch. “I don’t know. What’s up?”

 

“I could take the kids out today,” Matt suggested, “and you could teach Hailey some piano.”

 

Patrick sat on the floor, Adam in his lap, and looked up at Matt. He glanced to the other side of the room, where Miranda was reading and Kylie was working on what she was calling a mixed media project and Hailey was disinterestedly throwing a magazine up in the air over and over. “Really? You don’t mind?”

 

“Mind what?” Matt asked blankly.

 

“Taking the kids for the day,” said Patrick.

 

Matt had no idea what Patrick was talking about. “No, I don’t mind. I offered, didn’t I? I thought maybe we’d go to art galleries. Kylie would like that, and if I ask Miranda to think about how she’d film them for a documentary, we might do okay. Adam might be bored out of his mind, but I’ll see if I can entertain him enough.”

 

Patrick had a curious expression on his face. “You’re taking Adam, too?”

 

“Well, how are you going to teach Hailey how to play the piano while holding a baby?”

 

“I can put him down for a nap,” Patrick said. “And ask Mrs. Honeycutt to sit with him.”

 

“Oh.” Matt had forgotten about naps. “That works.”

 

“Do you know,” Patrick said, “sometimes I watch you sleep and I think, Well, that’s it, I couldn’t possibly be any more in love with him. And I’m always wrong.”

 

Matt smiled, feeling like a flower that had just gotten an extra burst of sunshine. “Thank you. Same.”

 

Patrick grinned at him and said, “If you would like to take Kylie and Miranda out, that would be lovely, but it’s not required. Hailey will get her piano lessons. I promise.”

 

“I know,” said Matt. “I just remember what it’s like to really want to learn to play the piano. Don’t you remember that?”

 

“Vividly,” Patrick said. “Because I still feel it every day.”

 

Matt smiled at him. “That’s why I gave it to you in the band. The piano is your one true love.”

 

Patrick fixed him with a look. “Is it now?”

 

Matt grinned.

 

***

 

They went to art galleries. Matt had been worried Miranda might be bored, but actually Kylie’s enthusiasm was infectious, and she was really good at explaining what she loved about whatever they were looking at, and also really good at listening to their opinions, and Matt was impressed at how well Kylie and Miranda meshed during the gallery time. He hadn’t given much through to the dynamics between the girls. They seemed to get along, but Matt supposed he’d been thinking it was the sort of bond born of mutual trauma. Now Matt was realizing, foolishly, that they probably actually liked each other. It shouldn’t have been surprising. Of course Patrick would have kids sensitively attuned to art, who would be able to talk beyond their own obsessions.

 

The gallery owners recognized him mostly, and Matt thought they were extravagantly polite to Kylie and Miranda as a consequence, but he also thought that some of their praise was genuine when it came to their observations, and Matt appreciated that they took Kylie seriously when she talked about her own artistic endeavors.

 

He was going to have to talk to Patrick, he thought. Kylie was facing high school, and there were artistic high schools Kylie could go to, focused on helping her tease that artist out, and he and Patrick had resources, they could give Kylie anything she wanted, _everything_ she wanted.

 

They stopped to get ice cream, settling in at a little shop that looked completely overwhelmed to find Matt Usher stepping through the door.

 

Matt said, “I’ll pose for pictures later if the kids stay out of it,” and slid much more money across the counter than was necessary.

 

The two kids behind the counter nodded wordlessly.

 

Kylie and Miranda were so preoccupied with their ice cream that Matt didn’t think they’d noticed. He nudged them toward a table in the back and maneuvered them to sit with their backbacks facing the rest of the room. Matt sat with himself in plain view, taking the brunt of all the curious stares being sent their way, and the cell phone cameras going off. So far no one seemed inclined to approach them, but that never lasted long.

 

Kylie was gushing about the art galleries as she licked at her ice cream cone. “They were just so awesome. Dad used to take me to the art galleries in L.A. sometimes and that was so great. Do you think we’ll have time to do art galleries while we’re in L.A.?” Kylie asked.

 

“I don’t know,” Matt said, swirling his spoon through the whipped cream in his sundae and wishing the kids wouldn’t be alarmed if he put his sunglasses on. He never wore his sunglasses with the kids, and he didn’t really want to start, but the pictures being taken were starting to get annoying. “It depends on a lot of stuff.”

 

“Like going out with your reality show friends?” said Kylie.

 

“Yeah,” Matt said.

 

“And us seeing our mom?” said Miranda.

 

Matt froze, putting all his attention on Miranda and Kylie, who glared at each other. Tension there, Matt thought. Which Patrick, predictably, was pretending he could ignore. Another thing he was going to have to talk to Patrick about.

 

“Okay,” Matt said, and pushed his sundae out of the way and leaned over a little so he could make eye contact with the girls. “Let’s talk about that.”

 

“We don’t have to,” said Kylie, as Patrick as she could be.

 

“Hmm,” said Matt. “But we should. You should especially talk about it with me, because you’re never going to talk about it with your dad, are you?”

 

Kylie turned her glare on him. “It’s not really any of your business.”

 

Matt was aware that, strictly speaking, it probably wasn’t. Ashley had always hated him, for obvious reasons, and he doubted she’d be happy he was now talking to her kids about her.

 

Matt took a deep breath and looked at Miranda. “How about you, Miranda? What are you thinking about your mom?”

 

Miranda twisted her spoon in her cup of ice cream, watching it closely. And then she looked up at him, and her little face was scrunched up in chagrin. “I don’t know. I really don’t know. I don’t… Mom was tough.”

 

Matt guessed that was probably putting it mildly.

 

“And she didn’t,” Miranda went on., stopping then re-starting. “She didn’t really like me.”

 

Matt blinked. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

 

Miranda nodded miserably. “No, it’s totally true. She liked Kylie and she liked Hailey because they’re girly and they want to wear dresses and get their hair braided and stuff but she always said I liked weird things.”

 

Matt stared at her and wonder how the fuck Patrick had stayed in this marriage so long. Had he not _seen_ all of this?

 

And then Matt answered his own question: No. Patrick hadn’t. Probably because Patrick had been so busy trying to hold everything together, all by himself.

 

Matt said, “You don’t like weird things. You like you things. Fuck your mother and her dedication to traditional gender roles.”

 

Miranda’s eyes widened at him.

 

Kylie snorted and said, “That dedication only went so far. She didn’t like _any_ of us, Miranda.”

 

Matt sighed and thought maybe there was another perspective to this, possibly, that Matt was missing because everything was being filtered at him through hurt children. “Look,” Matt said. “That can’t be true, right? I think maybe she wasn’t as good at making you feel loved as your dad is, but she wants to see you now. She must like you a little bit.”

 

Kylie looked unimpressed.

 

Miranda said, the hope in her voice betraying her, “Do you think so?”

 

Matt was going to fucking kill Ashley. It was going to be tragic for him to go to prison now that he’d finally gotten his life better-settled, but, well, there you had it. He said honestly, “I don’t know. But I’d _like_ to think so.”

 

Kylie said, “Dad said we didn’t have to see her. Do you think he meant that?”

 

“Yes,” Matt said. “I have truthfully never known your dad to say something he didn’t mean. Have you?”

 

“No,” Kylie admitted.

 

“It’s up to you. Whatever you want.”

 

“What would you do?” Miranda asked.

 

Matt hesitated.

 

Which made Kylie look at him closely.

 

Matt cleared his throat. Matt ate the cherry on his sundae. Matt glanced out into the crowd of the ice cream shop, all of whom seemed to be watching him, then he looked back at the girls, who were definitely watching him.

 

He said, “I don’t know.”

 

Then he cleared his throat.

 

Then he said in a rush, “I’d see her.”

 

“Really?” Kylie sounded like that wasn’t she’d expected.

 

“I’d…” Matt sighed and pushed his sundae entirely away. “I don’t know. I’m not the right person to ask about this. I’m super fucked up about parents.”

 

Miranda and Kylie stared at him, waiting for the rest of the story.

 

“I have no idea who my father is,” Matt said. “I’ve never known. He left before I was born and my mother never knew who he was, or never told me if she did know, I don’t know. Either way. I never met my dad. And then my mother, she… She wasn’t a great mom, let’s say that, and then she died when I was still a kid, and I… All of which is to say that I didn’t really have good parents but also if I could talk to either one of them today I think I would, because I think it fucked me up not to…not to be able to… But I don’t know, I think maybe it’s that I never had a _choice_ , I had them taken away from me and I never got the choice, but…  I don’t know, see, I’m not the right person to ask about this.”

 

Kylie and Miranda both sat and looked at him in silence, and it was horrible. Matt wanted to beg them to say something, or forget he’d said anything.

 

Someone said, “Can I get an autograph?” and Matt remembered where they were, and now that someone had approached him, the floodgates were going to open.

 

Matt seized on the distraction, and signed autographs, until finally he was able to duck out with Kylie and Miranda.

 

And Kylie said, “Thank you for the ice cream, Matt.”

 

And Miranda said, “It was delicious, thank you.”

 

There was a carefulness to their tone that made Matt’s heart ache a little bit. He said, “Look, all of that babbling was probably just my way of saying that I don’t know what you should do about your mother. But I do know that you guys just absolutely _lucked out_ when it came to your dad. Like just… He’s great. And he’s going to love you and support you, no matter what.”

 

And they looked like they believed him.

 

***

 

They met up at sound check, and Patrick asked how their afternoon was, and Kylie and Miranda were full of praise for the art galleries, and Matt looked oddly exhausted. Patrick watched him, a little bewildered and a little worried, until he could corner him right before they were going on stage for the sound check to start.

 

“Were they not good for you?” he asked quizzically.

 

“They were fabulous,” said Matt.

 

“You look…not great,” said Patrick.

 

Matt shook his head. “I’ve got a lot to talk to you about, but we can’t do it now, we have to have a concert tonight.”

 

Patrick was alarmed. “You have to talk to me about something that’s so upsetting it would jeopardize our concert? What happened today?”

 

Matt shook his head again. “Come do sound check,” he said, and walked onto the stage.

 

Patrick frowned after him, and caught Rachel looking at him. He gave her a thumbs-up he didn’t feel and went out to the stage, where Matt was saying, “Let’s just do _Wild Ride_ , count us in, Anna,” as muted and solemn as Patrick had ever heard him.

 

Anna and David both looked over at Patrick, as he was ordinarily the Matt-whisperer.

 

Patrick gave them a tight smile and said, “Here we go,” to encourage Anna to get on with it.

 

They played a lackluster version of the song, mostly because Matt wasn’t really trying. He sang on key but without much energy, and when he was done he sent a thumbs-up to the sound booth and said, “My sound was fine. How was everyone else?”

 

Anna and David both chorused, “Fine,” still looking at Matt in bewilderment.

 

Anna mouthed at Patrick, _Did you have a fight?_ behind Matt’s back, and Patrick frowned at the supposition that all of Matt’s moods must have something to do with him. He hadn’t been with Matt today. This was all other people, as far as Patrick could tell.

 

He checked Twitter, hoping for some kind of clue, scrolling though the #mattrick tag.

 

“You okay?” Rachel asked Matt, as he headed off-stage.

 

“I’m perfect,” said Matt. “It was a sound check, Rachel. Let’s not get all apocalyptic. The concert will be fine.”

 

Patrick, lagging behind Matt as he scrolled, came upon a photo of Matt, smiling, in Atlanta that day. _Matt Usher was out today with what were clearly Reed kids. He asked that we keep the kids out of the photos but otherwise he signed for every single fan who came up to him. Class act!_

 

“I like the concerts to be better than ‘fine,’” Rachel began.

 

“Leave him,” Patrick said, looking at the tweet.

 

“Thank you,” Matt said fervently, and then actually went into Patrick’s dressing room and closed the door.

 

Noteworthy, because Patrick’s dressing room was always entirely empty and never in use.

 

“What’s the matter with him?” Rachel asked him.

 

“He’s fine,” Patrick said. “He had a busy day. He signed for fans. Sometimes it’s draining being the center of attention.”

 

“He’s got to be the center of attention again in—”

 

Patrick said politely, “He’s fine, thank you,” because fretting over Matt’s mental state definitely wasn’t going to make it better, and stepped into Matt’s dressing room and closed the door.

 

The kids all looked up at him, except for Adam, who didn’t look up from the book Mrs. Honeycutt was reading to him.

 

“Okay,” Patrick said to Kylie and Miranda. “How long did Matt spend signing today, wherever you were?”

 

“I don’t know,” said Kylie. “Half an hour maybe?”

 

“He took us to an ice cream shop and everyone bothered him,” said Miranda, “but, Dad, more importantly—”

 

“Shh,” Kylie said sharply.

 

Patrick looked between them. “Uh-oh. We don’t keep secrets, right? What happened to Matt? Or did he do something?”

 

Miranda said to Kylie, “I’m sure he already knows, Kylie. It’s not going to be news to Dad.”

 

“What?” Patrick asked.

 

Kylie sighed. “He told us about his parents.”

 

Patrick went still, because Matt virtually never talked about his parents, and certainly not directly. Matt only ever referenced his parents obliquely. “About his parents? Why?”

 

“Because we were talking about parents,” Kylie said.

 

Ashley, Patrick thought. They had clearly been talking about Ashley.

 

“What about Matt’s parents?” asked Hailey.

 

“He never had a dad,” Miranda said.

 

“What happened to him?” asked Hailey.

 

“He left,” Patrick said, “before Matt was born. Matt told you this?” The idea of this was mindboggling. Matt never said these things out loud like this.

 

Miranda and Kylie both nodded.

 

“And that his mom died when he was young,” Miranda added.

 

Matt’s mother had overdosed, but Patrick thought Matt must have left that detail out of the conversation.

 

“Oh, poor Matt,” said Hailey, and she did sound heartbroken. “What did he do? Was he all alone?”

 

“He was fine,” Patrick said automatically, because he didn’t want Hailey to worry about a Matt who had existed years ago and could no longer be helped. Patrick had worried enough about that Matt he couldn’t save, he didn’t want his kids to start with it, too. And he didn’t want to tell Hailey, _He was a disastrous mess who was living in an old car when I met him and managed to sell his soul for piano lessons._

 

Hailey said, “Where is he? Can I talk to him?”

 

“He’s resting,” Patrick said gently. “He had a long day.”

 

“He had a _sad_ day,” Hailey corrected him. “You can’t just leave him to deal with that all alone.”

 

Truthfully, Patrick didn’t know what he ought to do. He felt like was on unprecedented ground. Should he give Matt space, or should he crowd him a bit with comfort? Patrick knew what he _wanted_ to do, which was to gather him up and make him forget about it, but he wasn’t sure if it was what Matt needed.

 

And then, as he hesitated, trying to make up his mind, Hailey beat him to it by saying, “Is he in the next dressing room? _I’ll_ go give him a hug,” and marching right out of the room.

 

***

 

Matt sprawled on his back on the couch in Patrick’s empty dressing room and scrubbed his hands over his face and said out loud, “Pull yourself together, Usher, you’re a rock star with a concert to give tonight and all that fuckery happened to you twenty-five years ago, get over it.”

 

His stern pep talk didn’t have any discernible effect. Matt still wanted to curl into a ball and pull blankets over his head. Half of him wanted to go get Patrick, wanted to fucking _crawl_ to him and say, _Just take care of me for a little while, I need to not be for a little while_ , and the other half of him didn’t want Patrick to minimize this feeling, all this little-boy hurt that was _legitimate_. He didn’t want to hate himself for being hurt, and at the same time he hated himself for still being hurt.

 

There was a soft knock on the door, and Matt took a deep breath and said, “Come in,” because it wasn’t like he could hide forever.

 

He twisted to see Patrick and was startled when it was Hailey who walked into the room. He scrambled to sit up, feeling like an idiot that Hailey would catch in such a self-indulgent sulk.

 

“Hailey,” he said. “What’s up?”

 

Hailey came and sat beside him on the couch and looked at him solemnly. “Is it true you didn’t have a dad?”

 

Jesus Christ, Matt thought, was everyone just sitting around talking about his sad, tragic childhood? He knew Hailey didn’t mean it that way, though, so he just said simply, “Yes,” rather than jumping down her throat about it.

 

And then Hailey hugged him. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I don’t know how you grew up without a _dad_.”

 

Of course she would find that impossible, given how central her father was to her life, but suddenly, with Hailey hugging him with such uncomplicated straightforward sympathy, Matt felt every shred of his composure shudder into nonexistence. _Damn it_ , he thought, and tried to say, “It’s fine,” and couldn’t even get through it because suddenly he was crying. He held Hailey a little more tightly, mortified, trying to strangle his sobs as he pressed his face against her hair.

 

And then Patrick said softly, “Hey.”

 

Matt jumped, caught entirely by surprise, and looked up at him.

 

He smiled at him briefly and then turned to Hailey, brushing his fingers over her hair. “Thanks,” he said to her. “I’ll take it from here.”

 

Hailey nodded and stood up and Matt grabbed at her hand and said very steadily, “Hailey. Thank you.”

 

Hailey nodded again, and smiled at him, a soft sweet smile that was so Patrick it made Matt’s heart hurt. And he watched her slip out of the dressing room and close the door behind her. And he took a labored, ragged breath.

 

“Matt.” Patrick sat next to him on the couch and carded his fingers through Matt’s hair. “Darling.”

 

Matt sniffled and said, “It’s so stupid. It’s _so stupid_. Can we not talk about it?”

 

“Darling,” Patrick said again, quiet and dear.

 

And Matt turned suddenly into his chest and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, and he couldn’t even feel… _anything_ …about it. It wasn’t a conscious choice. It wasn’t anything he could have resisted. It just _was_.

 

“Okay,” Patrick murmured, and kissed his head again and again. “Okay.”

 

When Matt stopped crying, he was sprawled on Patrick’s chest, Patrick flat underneath him, and Patrick’s hand was a gentle pressure on the back of his head, and the room seemed incredibly silent all around them.

 

“Christ,” Matt said eventually, and closed his eyes. “I don’t even _know_.”

 

“It’s just a lot,” Patrick said.

 

“My therapist is going to be proud of me. She always says I have a lot to get out that I’m keeping all bottled up. And I told her that’s not how I work, I write a song. But kudos to her, I guess, she was right, I had a lot to get out.”

 

“You don’t write songs about your father,” Patrick said. “You never even talk about your father.”

 

“He’s irrelevant,” said Matt, which was clearly the biggest lie he’d ever told, although Patrick just let it be, because of how obvious the lie was.

 

Patrick scratched his fingers soothingly over Matt’s head.

 

Matt said, “I’m tired of being angry at him. I shouldn’t be. I don’t want to be. I want to be able to let go of it. I’m just _tired_.”

 

“I know,” said Patrick. “Do you want to cancel the concert tonight?”

 

Matt actually laughed. “Rachel would kill me.”

 

“She’d have to go through me,” said Patrick.

 

Matt lifted his head and pulled himself up so he could look down at Patrick. Then he said, “I want to have a concert. I think I’ll feel better. I’m Matt fucking Usher. Look what I did with my life. Look what I _did_ with it.”

 

Patrick smiled at him and kept petting at his hair. “Yeah. Look at you.”

 

Matt said, “Are the kids horrified by me?” Because he couldn’t imagine how embarrassing and awkward this was all about to be.

 

“You cannot possibly be seriously asking me that question,” Patrick said. “Matt, my kids would slay dragons for you. They think you walk on water. If your father’s out there, he’d better be worried that an army of tween redheads is about to track him down and torture him on behalf of the little boy you used to be. It’s a Reed family trait, you know. We can’t handle the idea of the you we couldn’t keep safe.”

 

Matt said, “I’m okay. Really. I’m okay.”

 

“Yeah,” said Patrick. “You are. You’ve got Reeds manning your defenses for you. You’re going to be fine.”

 

And Matt actually believed it.

 

***

 

Matt barreled his way through the setlist that night, letting the crowd carry him up on their energy, and it created a different atmosphere, symbiotic and interconnected. It felt like the crowd knew Matt had needed the push and their reception to the songs seemed to have a protective edge, and Matt’s singing seemed wrapped in gratitude. Patrick was glad they’d had the concert. Matt had needed this moment of standing on a stage, beloved, not at all alone.

 

Anna’s drums kicked in for the intro of _Forever_ , and the crowd roared in recognition of it, and Matt stood stock-still in front of the microphone and took a deep breath. He missed his first note, and Patrick glanced at Anna, who glanced at him but just re-played the intro for him.

 

Matt caught the second lead Anna threw him, crooning, “There’s a screenshot on my phone of the last text you sent me, I keep thinking that I should delete it, but every time my thumb hovers over the right button, I decide that no, I still need it.”

 

He was singing it every so slightly more slowly than usual, making Anna slow down in reaction. Patrick concentrated, watching him closely, hitting his chords at the right place. Matt’s voice was huskier than usual, sounded drenched in emotion, and the crowd was hushed, into the shaky breath Matt took at the end of the line.

 

“And you,” sang Matt, into the silence between Anna’s drums and Patrick’s piano, and Patrick layered in more piano, listening to Matt’s voice almost dully, letting it pull him entirely under. “Forever too good for me,” Matt sang, and Patrick’s piano paused into silence again for the next, “And you,” and then he picked it back up again, and “Forever out of my league,” Matt sang, and Patrick played automatically. They played this song every concert. He knew it backwards and forwards now. But he’d learned it almost mechanically, not stopping to think about the truth of it, which was that it was about _him_. Matt had written this achingly gorgeous song about never being good enough…for _him_.

 

And here, in front of this crowd, Matt was singing it _to_ him, an unmistakable intimacy to his voice licking around the words. “And you,” Matt sang, “forever the risk not chosen, and you, forever on a pedestal.” Patrick and Anna stopped, let the song’s silent climax tremble, before Matt shattered it with, “Frozen,” and then Patrick kicked in his complicated piano solo, and he had to concentrate for it and he was used to this piano solo now but tonight it was hard because his head felt like it was in a million pieces. Patrick had forgotten Matt could sing like that, although he shouldn’t have, because he still remembered the first time he’d watched Matt perform, and how extraordinary he’d been.

 

Matt crooned his final “frozen” into complete silence, and everyone sat for a moment, Matt’s emotion washing over them, the ragged breath Matt drew, and then the applause rose up in a cresting wave. Matt bowed and then waved his hand over to Patrick and said, “Patrick Reed, everyone. He has a bit of a change of pace. He’s going to play you something that’s not a love song.”

 

Patrick knew Matt was bantering. He knew it from the crooked smile Matt sent him. And he knew he could just banter back. He knew he could start _Trick Up Your Sleeve_ and let the crowd reception carry them out of this.

 

But he said, “It’s a love song. What ever made you think it’s not a love song?”

 

Matt stared at him.

 

And Patrick started playing.

 

***

 

Matt pushed Patrick back onto the bed and grinned down at him and said, “It’s not a love song.”

 

“Oh, isn’t it?” said Patrick, letting Matt crawl on top of him.

 

“Patrick,” Matt said, shaking his head, and he wasn’t even _angry_ , he was just _fond_. “I have always relied on a flippant insouciance?”

 

“You have,” Patrick said.

 

“I know. I can’t rebut it. It’s just…” Matt leaned down and kissed Patrick, deep and wet, before pulling back. “It’s not a love song.”

 

“Matt.” Patrick caught Matt’s head up in his hand. “It’s a love song. It’s a song about how I love you so much that I couldn’t… When I met you I thought I’d never fall for the act, You proved me wrong with your immediate impact.”

“And then you spend the rest of the song hating me for that,” Matt pointed out.

 

“I don’t. I _don’t_. Have you thought all along that song was about how I _hated_ you?”

 

Matt paused, looking down at Patrick, who looked genuinely distressed. “Okay,” he said. “I kind of just wanted to have sex. Can we just have sex?”

 

Patrick frowned.

 

“Patrick,” Matt began.

 

“Matt,” Patrick interrupted, and then flipped them, putting Matt underneath him. “Matthew Jonathan Usher,” he said, and pinned Matt’s hands to either side of his head.

 

Matt blinked at him, surprised.

 

“I love you,” said Patrick.

 

“I know,” Matt said.

 

“I _never stopped_ loving you. It’s a love song, Matt. It’s a song in which I am _begging_ you to have a trick up your sleeve. I want so badly for you to stop me from packing my bags and leaving.”

 

Matt stared up at him, because Matt had never once interpreted the song that way. Not _once_.

 

“Fuck,” Patrick said thickly. “We talked at cross-purposes, for so long. I never thought I was too good for you, I never wanted to be out of your reach, I wanted to be _right there_ , I wanted to be the only thing you ever reached for, I wanted so much to be with you, for you not to be the lone wolf charming the executioner. I wanted to be the trick up your sleeve. Your _trick_ up your sleeve.”

 

Matt kept staring up at him. He couldn’t think what else to do. He definitely couldn’t think of anything to say. He blinked and took a shuddering breath.

 

“Matt,” Patrick said, and his voice was soft and aching and he kissed him with a lush gentleness, and Matt kissed back and floated in the way Patrick said his name when he said it _just like that_. “Matt,” Patrick mumbled against him, through desperate fevered kisses, as if he couldn’t decide which spot was the spot he needed most to kiss. “Matt, Matt, my Matt.” Patrick licked into Matt’s mouth.

 

“Your Matt,” Matt said, chasing Patrick’s taste.

 

“You were always my Matt,” Patrick said breathlessly, and bit under Matt’s jaw.

 

“I was always your Matt,” Matt agreed, hooking a leg over Patrick to drag them into better alignment.

 

Patrick sucked a mark onto Matt’s neck, and Matt threw his head back to make sure he had proper access, and thought, Jesus, had it just been that morning he’d done that to Patrick? It seemed like forever ago.

 

“I’m never going to let anyone but me touch you ever again,” Patrick said, a growling promise into Matt’s collarbone, and Matt, through his panting, managed to smile up at the ceiling. Patrick in these possessive moods was the _best_ Patrick.

 

“Works for me,” Matt said.

 

Patrick’s head came up and he brushed his nose against Matt’s and then he said, “I am going to make you fucking _purr_ ,” and this time he bit his way into the kiss.

 

“ _Really_ works for me,” Matt said.

 

***

 

Matt, blissed out and sated, could have been Patrick’s favorite Matt. Patrick could never pick a favorite Matt, but this one was always in the running, this Matt who sprawled lazily next to him and let him stroke and touch and just _adore_.

 

“Feeling better?” Patrick asked, although that was obvious.

 

“Hmm,” said Matt, eyes closed as he smiled.

 

“You didn’t have to tell my kids about your parents,” Patrick said softly. He didn’t want to dredge it up again, but he also wanted to make sure that Matt knew that Patrick wasn’t going to require special sacrifices from Matt when it came to kids.

 

“They asked,” Matt said, eyes still closed.

 

“Yeah, but you could have told them it’s not their business.”

 

Matt’s eyes opened now, and he frowned. “But it _is_ their business.”

 

“Matt. I love you more than I could ever put into words for how enthusiastically you’ve embraced my children but that doesn’t mean you should feel required to tell them everything about you. You can keep parts of you for yourself.”

 

“But it was relevant to them. They needed to know. Actually, we should talk about this.”

 

“Talk about what?” said Patrick, confused.

 

“Fuck.” Matt closed his eyes for a moment. “This is going to smash the afterglow to hell.” He opened his eyes again. “But we should talk about this.”

 

“Talk about what?” Patrick said again.

 

“Your kids. And Ashley.”

 

“And Ashley?” He felt like he was barely following this conversation.

 

“Your kids are struggling with this.”

 

Patrick stared at him. “My kids are _struggling_ with this?” Patrick was aware he said it flatly, he could feel himself bristling but he couldn’t help it.

 

Matt sighed. “I’m just saying—”

 

“No, no, please tell me, in your expert opinion, what I’m missing about my children’s struggles. You think I’m not aware it’s rough not to have a mom? You think I’m not capable of sympathy? You’re the only one who can identify with them because you’re all in that secret club together?”

 

“No. Patrick. Stop and listen to me. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying you’re not seeing what the real issue is here.”

 

Patrick lifted his eyebrows. “Oh, is that all you’re saying?”

 

“That was worse, wasn’t it? That was a worse thing to say. Fuck. Patrick. I don’t want to have a fight about this, I want to—”

 

“Tell me what the fucking issue is I’m not seeing, Matt,” Patrick said coldly.

 

“Christ,” Matt said wearily. “I hate to fight with you, you know. I hate how you get when we fight.”

 

“Wow,” said Patrick drily. “This conversation is going _so_ well. And after I just made you purr, too.”

 

“It isn’t Ashley leaving that traumatized your kids. I don’t think your kids give a fuck that she left. Wait. No. Correction. I think your kids are fucking _relieved_ that she left. I think your kids spent a decade of their lives holding their breath, and Ashley left and they could breathe, and I know you’re trying to orchestrate some kind of sweet reunion here but I think it’s messing with them because they just got out from under the suffocation of that unhealthy relationship.”

 

Patrick stared at Matt, who looked so calm delivering this assessment of Patrick’s fathering, that he’d missed the decade of his kids being suffocated. “Really?” he said. “That’s what you think?”

 

Matt either didn’t realize how angry Patrick was or didn’t care, because he kept talking. “Do you know that Ashley apparently used to make fun of Miranda for not being girly enough? Of all people who would let that gender-normative fuckery into his kids’ lives, I’d never have expected you would—”

 

“You think I’m stifling Miranda’s self-expression?” interrupted Patrick.

 

“No. Not at all. I think you’re great. I think that _Ashley_ —”

 

“So I fucked my kids up by not realizing how terrible Ashley was to them for their entire lives?”

 

“That is not what I’m saying,” Matt said calmly.

 

It was Matt’s calmness that was so infuriating. That Matt could level accusations like this and be _calm_ about it. “And you don’t think you’re the tiniest bit jealous of Ashley?” drawled Patrick.

 

Matt gave him an umimpressed look. “Trick.”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Patrick snapped.

 

“I’m not jealous of Ashley. You just made me _purr_. In what universe am I—”

 

“You’ve always been jealous of Ashley. That piece of me she got that you didn’t,” said Patrick viciously.

 

Which was a barb that hit its mark, because Matt visibly flinched. His voice was still even, though, when he said, “I think maybe we should stop—”

 

Patrick ignored him. “So you paint this entire psychological nightmare you’re convinced my kids went through because in Matt Usher’s head Ashley’s got to go full-on villain—”

 

“I’m not trying to make her into a villain,” said Matt.

 

“Oh, no? That’s not what this is? This sudden realization of yours that she was tormenting my kids their whole lives?”

 

“One, that’s not what I said,” snapped Matt, sitting up, and Patrick thought, _Finally. Come at me_. “Two, come off it.”

 

“Come off it?” echoed Patrick.

 

“I fucking _knew_ her, Patrick. And I know you. She’s an opportunistic sociopath who—”

 

“Wow,” said Patrick.

 

“—wouldn’t know how to love anything but herself. Ever. And how you were so _idiotic_ as to _marry_ her when—”

 

“ _What_?” said Patrick.

 

“Look,” said Matt viciously. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? You want to have a fight about you and Ashley? I am ready for this fight. I have _been_ ready for this fight. It was a stupid, _stupid_ move, Trick. You are _lavish_ with emotion, Jesus Christ, you leak emotion everywhere, you don’t know how to think about things without your heart getting all in the way, that’s why we’re fighting right now, because I said one thing about your kids and you crumbled all to pieces because you think it’s a personal attack, you need to be loved in epic, over-the-top, _extraordinary_ ways, and that’s _fine_ , because I’m here and that’s how I love you and did you never realize that that was _exactly_ why you fell in love with the melodramatic spoiled brat, the practiced trickster with the grin and the guile and the flippant insouciance, because you need everything you do to be reacted to _extravagantly_ , and that is _fine_ , I’m just _saying_ , you went and married the world’s most emotionless person and there was no fucking way that was ever, ever going to make you happy and when I heard—” Matt ran out of breath suddenly, uttered a little gasp, and then said, “When I heard you’d married _Ashley_ , I laughed _so hard_ at how miserable that was going to make you, I laughed until I _cried_.”

 

Patrick stared at him for a second, and then he bit out, “Fuck you.”

 

“Yeah,” Matt said drily. “Of _course_ that’s your response, because you know I’m right.”

 

“What the fuck,” Patrick demanded in a low voice, “do you think happened when I left that night? Do you think I got in my car and drove to Ashley’s and asked her to marry me? Is that what you fucking think in that melodramatic spoiled brat head of yours? Because I’ll tell you what I did that night. I went to a hotel room. And I curled up into a ball in the middle of the bed. And I didn’t move for a fucking _week_. In your head you’ve got this idea that when I decided to leave, I was _blithe_ about it, and it fucking _devastated_ me. Do you know who got me out of bed? It was Brie. Who said that I had to get up because otherwise how was I going to forgive you properly when you inevitably came crawling to me apologizing. And you know what _never happened_ , Matt?”

 

Matt was pale. He didn’t say anything to Patrick’s question.

 

“I thought you’d call,” Patrick said into his silence. “I spent that first week telling myself how strong I was going to be when you called. How I’d be stern, and clear with what I needed, and I wouldn’t just say, ‘Never mind, Matt, let’s just keep going the way we’ve been going.’ I laid in that bed in that hotel and I practiced the fucking speech I was going to give you. And you know who _never called_?”

 

“Patrick,” Matt said, his voice small.

 

“I wanted your voice,” Patrick cried. “I wanted it so badly that it physically _hurt_. It was like going through withdrawal. I went from this life that was you, twenty-four-seven, everything in it revolved around you, and then you weren’t there, and you _never fucking called_. I walked out and you didn’t even try to get me back.”

 

“Patrick,” Matt said again, and he was blinking rapidly now, and Patrick through that was probably tears he was blinking back, but he didn’t care at the moment.

 

“And you’ve been nursing this hurt,” Patrick went on. “All of this hurt. That I walked out. Do you know how much it hurt to be _allowed_ to walk out? I wanted you so much. I wanted you _so much_. Christ. I missed you with every breath I was taking. You want to know why I compartmentalized you, why I refused to think of you? Because I was _dying_ , Matt. You were killing me. The _absence_ of you was killing me. I had to pretend you’d never been because I didn’t know what else to do, how else to get myself out of that fucking bed. You want to know why my kids never heard Swan songs? Because I listened to your voice on fucking repeat for a full fucking week, because it was the closest I could get to you, and I had to _stop_. And do you know who called me? Do you know who _finally fucking called me_? Ashley.”

 

Patrick finally stopped. He’d been shouting, he realized. He could tell from the hoarseness of his voice. And he was _crying_ , he realized. It wasn’t Matt crying at all. _He_ was crying. He swiped at the tears on his cheeks, shocked.

 

And Matt, Matt was calm and composed, his liquid eyes wide and steady. “Yell at me more,” he said.

 

“What?” Patrick said.

 

“Yell at me more. Get it out.”

 

Patrick shook his head. “I don’t want to yell at you, I want to—” Patrick reached for him unthinkingly, burrowed into him, _Matt Matt Matt_ , there there there. “I can’t do it again,” he said desperately into Matt’s skin. “Don’t make me do it again. I can’t do it again. Stay with me. Stay. Don’t let me go.”

 

“Shh,” Matt said, stroking his hand through Patrick’s hair. “I’m right here. I’m not leaving. I’m not letting you leave. Breathe, Patrick. Take a breath.”

 

Patrick tried to steady the little hitching sobs he was taking against Matt’s chest.

 

“Patrick,” Matt murmured, his lips on the top of Patrick’s head now. “My Patrick.”

 

“Your Patrick,” Patrick agreed, closing his eyes, feeling exhausted now.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Matt sighed, and kissed Patrick’s head. “I wanted you so badly. I thought you didn’t want me.”

 

“I know,” Patrick said. “I do know. I don’t know why I just yelled at you about it.”

 

“Because you were hurt. And it still hurts. It might always hurt. I don’t know. I’m hoping it doesn’t. I’m hoping eventually we both start…trusting the other to stay.”

 

“Yeah,” said Patrick, and closed his eyes and counted Matt’s heartbeats under his ear.

 

Matt said after a moment, “Personally I think we’re making progress.”

 

That startled a laugh out of Patrick. “Are we?”

 

“Yes,” said Matt. “Look at how this fight ended, hmm?” Matt shifted to get them laying down again, cuddled together. “Don’t you think this is progress?”

 

“Okay,” Patrick said. “It’s definitely progress.” Patrick considered. “We’re older, maybe we’re just too tired to run out after fights anymore.”

 

Matt laughed, a laugh that rumbled over Patrick’s skin. “Whatever it is, I’m okay with it.”

 

“What do you want to tell me about the kids?” Patrick asked.

 

“We can talk about it tomorrow,” said Matt.

 

“You shouldn’t feel like I’m going to jump down your throat if you have things you want to tell me about the kids. I’m sorry about that. It’s because you’re right. I fucked things up with Ashley.”

 

“Can I tell you why?” asked Matt gently.

 

“Yes,” said Patrick, after a moment.

 

“You don’t understand her. And you’re never going to. So you handle things badly with her because she’s so foreign to your idea of…everything. You’re an incredible father. You love those kids with this single-mindedness that is so sweet to see. I think you can’t conceive of the idea that she doesn’t love them the same way. Not really. No matter what you try to tell yourself. But she doesn’t. And that hurts your kids, Patrick. It hurts them really badly, actually. It’s not a failing of you as a father that you can’t see that. Do you understand me? Patrick. Say you understand me.”

 

“I understand,” said Patrick hollowly.

 

“Hmm,” said Matt, sounding dubious, but let it go. “You’re trying to be amazing, giving them this space to make decisions about this. I get what you’re trying to do. You don’t want to color their view of their mother. But I think you’re coloring it by pretending that she didn’t hurt them, that they shouldn’t feel hurt. They feel _hurt_ , Patrick. And you know what that feels like. It’s not easy to get over. In fifteen years, you haven’t stopped hurting. And they’re kids.”

 

Patrick took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I’ll talk to them tomorrow.”

 

“I can help,” Matt said. “I _should_ help. It isn’t you against the universe, Patrick. I’m here now.”

 

Patrick took another deep breath. Then he said, “Thank you.”

 

“Also, I’m pretty sure all of your kids are geniuses and I want to spoil them by finding them the best schools in the country to nurture all of their talents, but we’ll talk about that later.”

 

Patrick smiled. “I’ll let you spoil them. I don’t want to resist you right now.”

 

“I promise not to exploit that,” said Matt, his finger tracing up and down Patrick’s arm.

 

Patrick said, after a moment, “Do you really think I need to be loved extravagantly?”

 

“Yes,” Matt said simply. “Lucky me. Because I’ve never met anyone else willing to put up with the flailing, all-over-the-place way I love.”

 

Patrick snuggled closer. “It’s a good way to love. You love well.”

 

Matt was silent for a breath, then said, “Thank you,” and kissed Patrick’s head. “Go to sleep,” he said.

 

So Patrick did.

 

***

 

_Orlando_

 

Matt did not sleep. He dozed fitfully for a little while. Mostly he watched Patrick sleep and thought of everything Patrick had said, from the wave of hurt and furious accusation over Matt’s abandonment to that last soft _You love well_ , which would not have been something Patrick would have agreed with fifteen years earlier.

 

But Matt wasn’t sure he would have agreed with it fifteen years earlier, either. He’d loved messily and haphazardly, completely devoted but skittish about showing it, and in the end he’d just managed to leave Patrick confused. Patrick, who needed and wanted and deserved an epic love story. Matt was going to fucking give it to him.

 

And instead he’d left him alone in a bed, waiting for him, missing him, so sure he was about to show up and make an extravagant apology. Matt was glad Patrick hadn’t asked what Matt had done when Patrick had left. Because Matt, too broken to even _process_ it, had sheathed himself in fury and gone on a massive week-long bender of fucking other people, and by the time he’d realized that the only one he wanted was Patrick, it had been too late and Patrick had closed the Matt door in his head.

 

Matt looked at the watch still nestled on his wrist and contemplated how long they had until Adam woke up, and if Matt should try to get himself out from underneath the arm Patrick had draped over him, so that Patrick could sleep a little longer, and then Patrick’s voice said softly, “Did you sleep at all?”

 

“Yeah,” Matt lied.

 

Patrick said, “I’m sorry for last night.”

 

“Don’t apologize,” Matt said.

 

Patrick propped himself up on his elbows to look down at him. “I shouldn’t have—”

 

“You feel how you feel. You felt how you felt. That’s valid. Don’t apologize for that.”

 

“That’s therapy speak.”

 

“It’s good therapy speak.”

 

“Regardless, it shouldn’t have been linked to your very valid and well-meaning point about my kids. Thank you for worrying about them. Thank you for circling my blind spot. Thank you for telling me the truth even though you knew it was going to ruin your afterglow and it made me be mean and unfair and vicious, I’m bad at fighting, I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s because you hate to do it,” Matt said, because he knew that about Patrick. Patrick avoided conflict so assiduously that, when confronted with it, he was brutal about it.

 

“You shouldn’t have to bear the brunt of that,” Patrick said.

 

“I don’t,” Matt said. “Because that’s the wonder of you, most of the time, we almost never fight. As long as we have it out before it gets to be too much, I consider that an excellent trade-off for the fact that you never once complain about what a mess I make of hotel rooms.”

 

“I complain about that,” Patrick said.

 

“You don’t complain about it _seriously_ ,” said Matt.

 

Patrick smiled a bit, which Matt had been going for, and said, “Okay. You’re right. I don’t. I missed that mess, for a lot of years. I genuinely did.”

 

“I know,” said Matt, because he did, and he pushed Patrick’s tumbled hair off his forehead. “Don’t beat yourself up too much for last night, or for the decade with Ashley, or whatever mistakes with your kids you’ve got catalogued. And I won’t beat myself up too much for not swallowing my hurt pride and going after you immediately. That was what you wanted. I see that now. You were doubting my commitment, and you kept saying that, and you wanted that demonstration of my commitment, and I didn’t give it to you, and I’m sorry. You wanted me to show that you were my priority, and I failed entirely.”

 

Patrick cupped a hand around Matt’s cheek and looked at him for a long moment. Then he said, sounding tired, “It’s all in the past. Let’s agree not to apologize the rest of the day.”

 

_Let’s get married_ , Matt wanted to say. Had wanted to say for so very long now. But they were raw and exhausted and Matt didn’t want this discussion now. He couldn’t imagine how they’d fuck it up if they talked about it now.

 

Patrick leaned forward, tipping his face into the curve of Matt’s neck, and said wearily, “Fuck, I don’t often wish we were twenty again, but I just want to spend all day in bed with you.”

 

For Patrick to say that, Matt thought, meant that Patrick really was tired. Matt needed to clear them space somewhere. They were being pulled in too many different directions. They had to get through Disney World, and then the _People_ interview, but maybe after that. There were two shows in Chicago coming up, maybe Matt could wrangle time for them. Or Montreal after that, Montreal could be a devastatingly romantic place, and Patrick needed to be romanced and wooed, he loved that stuff, it would reenergize him.

 

“Mmm,” Matt said thoughtfully.

 

“Instead I have to talk to the kids about Ashley,” Patrick said, and sighed heavily.

 

“Save that for the bus,” Matt said. “We’ve got a long ride to Orlando. We’ll talk to them about it then. Let’s just do one thing at a time today.”

 

Patrick nodded against him. “What’s the first thing?”

 

“Getting out of bed,” Matt said.

 

Patrick chuckled and kissed his neck and rolled out of bed. “Come shower with me,” he said. “It’ll save time.”

 

“Will it?” said Matt.

 

Patrick grinned at him, the sort of grin that told Matt it was all going to be okay. He leaned over the bed and kissed Matt, soft and fond, and murmured, “Come shower with me.”

 

“Okay,” Matt said.

 

***

 

They stepped out of the bedroom together to the sight of all three girls sleeping in the suite’s living area. Kylie and Miranda had a couch issue, and Hailey had curled up onto the oversized wingchair.

 

“What the hell,” Matt said, sounding surprised.

 

Then Bach, excited to see them, came running over barking, and that was it, the whole household was up.

 

“And what’s going on here?” Patrick asked, perplexed, as his girls stretched sleepily and blinked their eyes open.

 

And then fixed them with frowns.

 

“You were fighting,” Hailey said, looking thunderously disapproving.

 

And the penny dropped, because Patrick hadn’t even _thought_ about how loud they might have been the night before.

 

“Right,” he said, and looked at Matt. “We were fighting. Sorry. I didn’t realize we’d woken you.”

 

The girls all glared at him.

 

“We didn’t want to interrupt you,” Kylie said scathingly, “but we wanted to be here _in case_.” Kylie leveled a look at Matt.

 

_In case of what?_ Patrick wanted to ask, thoroughly bewildered. Had they thought Matt would _do_ something to him?

 

“It was a good fight,” Matt said lightly. “Sorry. We didn’t mean to disturb you with it. But it was a fight we had to have and now we’re good. Sometimes grown-ups fight, and sometimes that’s the very indication of a solid relationship, believe it or not.”

 

Patrick stared at him. “Look at Matt,” Patrick said. “All grown up. It’s like you’re in your late thirties or something.”

 

Matt smiled at him, and then turned to the girls. “We’re good. Sorry we worried you. But we’re good. What about breakfast? I bet I can scrounge us up some kind of gourmet doughnut place where we will be grossly overcharged for brioche.”

 

The girls, after a moment, all did some variation of shrugging and agreeing and trailing off to get dressed.

 

Patrick looked at Matt.

 

Matt said, “They’re not used to hearing you raise your voice.”

 

Because he’d never fought with Ashley. “Right,” Patrick said.

 

Matt paused in front of him. “We _are_ good.”

 

“We’re good.” Patrick nodded. “We’re good.”

 

Down the hall, Adam started shouting, “Dadadadadada,” over and over.

 

“Get Adam,” Matt said. “We’ll go to breakfast. We’ll get doughnuts. We’ll worry about the rest of it later. Okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Patrick said, and went to get Adam.

 

***

 

“The thing about Disney,” Miranda informed him solemnly, “is you have to have a _plan_.”

 

“You can’t just _show up_.” Kylie made a face. “Dad thinks you can just show up.”

 

Matt lifted his eyebrows. “You can’t just show up to Disney?”

 

“ _No_ ,” said Kylie emphatically.

 

“Look at all the research we’ve done,” Hailey said, and thrust a pad of paper stolen from the last hotel into his hand.

 

Matt flipped through the pages. There was a dizzying number of things written down. “Uh,” he said. “You know we’re only spending one day in Disney World, right?”

 

“We’re planning for return trips,” said Hailey confidently.

 

“Also, we’re assuming we can all split up,” Kylie said. “We’re not going to have to stick together once we’re in there, are we?”

 

Matt glanced toward the back of the bus, where Patrick was changing Adam’s diaper. “I don’t know if your dad is going to be in favor of you going off on your own.”

 

Kylie rolled her eyes with teenage expertise. “Not on my _own_. We’re assuming you and Dad can split us up. You’re still coming, right?”

 

“What?” Matt was perplexed. “Why wouldn’t I come?”

 

“Because you and Dad had a fight,” said Hailey.

 

“It wasn’t that kind of fight,” Matt said. “I’m sorry it alarmed all of you, I wish we hadn’t disturbed you, but trust me, it was a good fight, it was a fight we needed to have.” Matt paused. “How much did you hear of it?”

 

“We couldn’t understand what you were saying,” Kylie said.

 

“Ah,” said Matt. “Well.” He cleared his throat. “My therapist says couples need to learn how to have fights with each other. So your dad and I were practicing.”

 

“Are you going to be doing that a lot?” said Miranda, looking unimpressed.

 

“Hopefully not,” said Matt. “We don’t actually enjoy it, you know. And your dad definitely isn’t the type to fight, you know that. We just had some stuff we needed to get out, and now it’s done, and we’re moving on, I promise. It’s just that I’d rather have a fight with him than never have a fight, because that’s…not good.”

 

Kylie said, “You know we like you.”

 

“Yeah, you’re fun to have around,” agreed Miranda.

 

“We don’t want you to go,” added Hailey.

 

“But if you break Dad’s heart, you’re out,” Kylie finished calmly.

 

It was like talking to tiny redheaded Mafia bosses, thought Matt. “I have no intention of breaking his heart,” Matt promised solemnly.

 

Hailey beamed at him. Kylie and Miranda looked warier.

 

Patrick cleared his throat from behind them. “Okay,” he said, stepping over Matt with Adam in his hands to sit next to him in the bus’s compact living area setup. “You don’t actually need to threaten Matt for me, but that was terrifying, so I appreciate it.”

 

“You’ve probably let them watch documentaries on effective undetectable poisons, haven’t you?” said Matt.

 

“Only a couple,” said Patrick, “but I’m sure they’d have difficulty procuring those poisons.”

 

“I doubt it. They’re your kids. They’d definitely be able to get their hands on lethal poisons if they wanted to.”

 

Because Patrick’s kids were apparently not opposed to the thought of murdering Matt, they all beamed at him like he’d paid them the highest compliment.  

 

“Look what they’ve done,” Matt said, handing Patrick the Disney World notepad.

 

Patrick, letting Adam bang on the table with a spoon, studied it with a furrowed brow. “Hmm. How many days are we spending in Disney?”

 

“That’s what I said,” Matt said.

 

“We’re going to split up,” Kylie explained.

 

“Oh, I see,” said Patrick. “But what if I would like to spend the day with _all_ of you?”

 

“We can trade off,” Hailey suggested.

 

Miranda said, “I can probably go with either one of you, it doesn’t really matter.”

 

Matt looked at her, thinking of how torn and anguished she had been the day before over the decision over Ashley.

 

Patrick must have been thinking along the same lines, because he said suddenly, “Let’s talk.”

 

The kids immediately looked alarmed.

 

Matt said, “Trick, you’ve got to come up with a better opening to these conversations than that.”

 

Kylie said, “Is this going to be about how you’re a couple? Because we get it. You are _clearly_ a couple.”

 

“You share a bedroom,” Hailey said. “That’s the key.”

 

“Not always,” Matt said.

 

“We’re fine with the whole thing, Dad,” Miranda said. “You know we don’t care if you date a boy or a girl.”

 

“Or a neither,” added Matt, in case Miranda needed things like that affirmatively said.

 

“Right,” Kylie agreed. “So. We don’t have to have this serious conversation and can go back to talking about Disney.”

 

Matt looked at her and thought she was _so Patrick_.

 

Patrick said, “The conversation actually wasn’t about me and Matt but I’m glad you’re all okay with Matt as long as he doesn’t break my heart. The conversation was going to be about your mother.”

 

Kylie grimaced. “That is a _way worse_ thing to talk about.”

 

“I’m going to put cards on the table,” Patrick said, letting Adam slide off his lap to play with Bach on the floor. “I have no idea how to handle the situation with your mother. And I feel like, because I have no idea, I pushed it onto the three of you and made it your responsibility. I thought I was doing the right thing. I wasn’t _purposely_ trying to dodge the whole thing. But I’m realizing now that it wasn’t fair. We’re a team. We’ve always been a team. And it’s possible I have never listened closely enough to you about your mother. So. Let’s talk.”

 

That was a lot for Patrick, and Matt wanted to fall on him with kisses for it, but he refrained and looked at the girls. Kylie was watching her fingers trace along the table beside them. Hailey was chewing on her lower lip thoughtfully.

 

Miranda said, “We never talk about her.”

 

“No,” Patrick said, and took a deep breath. “I know. How do you feel about that? Do you want to talk about her more?”

 

“No,” said Hailey immediately, and Matt was surprised that Hailey would have been the first one to be so assertive about that. Then again, Hailey was the one who had hugged him so tightly about being fatherless, so maybe it made sense. Hailey clearly felt her situation with a keenness they hadn’t been noticing.

 

“Okay,” said Patrick after a moment. And looked like he was willing to just not talk about her.

 

Matt said to Hailey, “Why not?”

 

Hailey looked startled. “What?”

 

“It’s fine that you don’t want to talk about her,” Matt said. “I get it, trust me. I _never_ talk about my parents. But I’ve had a few decades to realize that might not have been a good thing to do without thinking about why I didn’t want to talk about them. And I didn’t want to talk about them because it _hurt_. Because every time I talked about them, it hurt.” Matt shrugged. He could feel Patrick’s eyes on him but he kept his eyes on Hailey.

 

Hailey swallowed and then she just nodded.

 

“Right,” Matt said, and wanted to bundle Hailey up. “Right,” he said again, and looked at Patrick, because if _he_ wanted to bundle these kids up, he couldn’t imagine how Patrick felt. No wonder Patrick had been avoiding everything about this.

 

Patrick looked stone-faced as his eyes flickered from Hailey to Miranda to Kylie. And then he said abruptly, “Okay. I’ve made a decision.”

 

The kids looked as startled as Matt felt.

 

Patrick sat back. “We’re going to do therapy. All of us. I can’t ask you to be dealing with all of this without giving you any tools to get yourselves through it. We are going to get through the rest of this tour. We are going to go to Disney World tomorrow. We are going to see the country. And you don’t have to think about your mother, okay? We don’t have to think about her, we don’t have to talk about her, we’ll get through this summer and in the fall we’ll start therapy and we’ll deal with it then. But this summer, you can let out the breaths you’ve all been holding. Okay?”

 

The girls looked almost pathetically relieved, even Kylie.

 

“So we don’t have to go see Mom?” Miranda clarified.

 

“You’re _not_ going to see her,” Patrick said. “It’s not going to happen. Not right now. You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

 

“We can just be us?” Hailey asked, her voice trembling, like it was too much to hope for.

 

“We can just be us,” Patrick promised.

 

“Us and Matt,” said Miranda.

 

“If that’s okay,” Matt said, because while they were striving not to upset the kids, he thought he should check on their consent.

 

They all three nodded, and then Kylie surprised everyone by leaping up and throwing herself onto Patrick in a violent hug.

 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said against him.

 

“Kylie,” said Patrick, sounding wrecked, as he smoothed his hand over her hair. “I know it isn’t your job to tell me when I’m way off on something, but if you were this upset I wish you’d _talked_ to me.”

 

“I didn’t know what to say without making it sound like I’m a terrible person,” Kylie said, her head burrowed against Patrick’s shoulder.

 

“You’re not a terrible person,” said Patrick. “I’d never think that.” Patrick looked at Miranda and Hailey. “I’d _never_ think that of any of you.”

 

Adam, concerned about Kylie, tugged at her, saying, “Ky. Ky.” 

 

Kylie turned to him, half-laughing, and said, “It’s okay. I promise. I’m okay.”

 

“You’re okay,” Patrick said. “We’re okay.”

 

Miranda and Hailey both nodded.

 

Patrick looked at Matt, who sent him a crooked smile.

 

_It’s good_ , he mouthed at him, and Patrick smiled back.

 

***

 

Matt proposed a little bit of songwriting for the rest of the drive to Orlando. He thought that everybody needed a distraction, so he pulled out his guitar and he strummed on it and he let the kids make contributions.

 

“It should go like this,” Hailey said, and sang a melody to him, and he smiled and said, “Okay,” and adjusted what he was playing.

 

“But then we need words,” said Miranda. “We can’t have a song with no words.”

 

“Yes, we can,” Kylie said.

 

“You know what I mean. Dad and Matt don’t have songs with no words.”

 

“Hmm,” said Matt thoughtfully, plucking out a couple of notes on the guitar.

 

Patrick, who had been playing with a train with Adam (and also with Bach although mostly he was trying to keep Bach away from the train and Bach interpreted this as playing), said, “Hurtling in a bus on our way to Disney with no plan.”

 

Matt laughed and played a couple of chords and half-sang, “The children think they’ll do every ride twice if they can.”

 

“Ha ha,” said Kylie.

 

“The invention of time travel would be useful in this endeavor,” Patrick sang back at him.

 

Matt smiled and sang, “But if time travel came— _strum_ —I’d use it to find a way— _strum_ —to get us back together.”

 

“And there’s our song,” remarked Patrick.

 

“That’s how it’s done,” Matt said approvingly.

 

“That’s it?” said Miranda. “We’re done?”

 

“You are incredibly difficult to impress,” Matt informed her.

 

“But you didn’t even need time travel,” Hailey said. “You got back together without time travel.”

 

“Not every song we write is about us,” said Matt.

 

Patrick gave him a look that Matt ignored.

 

Kylie said, “Well, that killed twenty minutes. What are we doing for the next four hours?”

 

“We’ve got to write the rest of it,” Patrick said with a grin.

 

And by the time they got to Orlando they had a fairly well-polished base of a song that Patrick had taken notes on while Matt played, and when Matt read it over as the bus rumbled off the highway toward their hotel, he reached over and scrawled on top of it, _P. Reed, K. Reed, M. Reed, H. Reed, M. Usher_.

 

Patrick smiled.

 

Miranda said, “What’s that for?”

 

Matt said, “Writing credit.”

 

And all three girls grinned.

 

***

 

There were fans outside the hotel in Orlando. Rachel came onto the bus to tell them about it.

 

“I’ve got it covered,” Matt said, and he was standing with his head stuck into the bus’s tiny bathroom so he could get his hair looking optimal for selfies.

 

Rachel said, “Signing for people exhausted you yesterday, I think we should just dash past them.”

 

Matt straightened out of the bathroom, looking furious.

 

“Okay,” Patrick said. “Let’s—”

 

“I was _fine_ yesterday,” Matt said.

 

“Matt—” Patrick began.

 

“You went and hid in the dressing room,” Rachel said. “Your sound check was—”

 

Patrick stepped between them, putting a hand out to touch Matt’s chest because he hoped it might be soothing. The kids were gaping between them. “I am going to separate you two,” Patrick said calmly.

 

“I’m not a child,” Matt said. “I’ll sign if I want to sign. I can do whatever I want.”

 

Patrick recognized Matt about to spiral into proclamations of grandiosity, and instead of just backing off of pressing him, Rachel would keep winding him up, because these two just expertly pressed each other’s buttons.

 

“I’m not saying you can’t,” Rachel huffed. “I’m just trying to look out for—”

 

Patrick gave Rachel a look, trying to say _Please just back off of him, you’re going to make it worse_.

 

And Rachel stopped talking and sighed and said, “Right. Right. Sorry. Let’s start over.” She took a deep breath. “Matt, would you like to sign for the fans?”

 

Matt eyed her suspiciously but merely said, “Yes.”

 

“Okay,” said Rachel, and spread her hands out. “Be my guest.”

 

Matt put sunglasses on and jogged off the bus. They could hear the claps and whistles that greeted his appearance.

 

Patrick said, “He’s fine. Yesterday wasn’t about the signing.”

 

“Okay,” Rachel said. “I’ll believe you.”

 

“And we had a great show last night.”

 

“It was a good show,” Rachel agreed, and then looked at the kids. “And how are all of you? Bus life treating you well?”

 

“We wrote a song,” Hailey said, and held up the piece of paper happily.

 

Rachel smiled. “That’s sweet. Careful, Brie and Lilah will be sending you out on tour next.”

 

***

 

Patrick and the kids were playing cards with Mrs Honeycutt when Matt got back to the room. He looked breathless and pleased with himself, and Patrick thought it was a little bit of a contact high from the fans, which Matt could sometimes get. His sunglasses were perched in his disheveled hair, and his eyes were bright.

 

He said, “How much does everyone love me?” and let the door swing shut behind him.

 

The kids stared at him. Well, except for Adam, who toddled over to him, almost knocked over by Bach, holding out a coveted joker card that they had given him as a distraction.

 

“You’ve either done something fantastic or something terrible,” remarked Patrick.

 

“Thank you, Adam,” Matt said to Adam, examining the joker seriously. “It’s a joker, kid. Good hand.” He handed it back to Adam and turned his attention back to Patrick. “Actually I haven’t done anything at all. Other than being Matt Usher.” Matt sat an empty chair and grinned at Patrick. “You’re so lucky I’m Matt Usher.”

 

“I think that daily,” said Patrick drily.

 

Matt tipped his head and looked at the girls, who still didn’t look like they knew what to make of him. “I was looking through your Disney plan—”

 

“Weren’t you signing autographs?” said Miranda.

 

“I was looking at it _before_ ,” said Matt. “And I realized that nowhere in your Disney plan did you allow for fireworks.”

 

“You’ve got the concert tomorrow night,” Kylie pointed out. “We’ve got to be back way before fireworks.”

 

“So isn’t it great that Disney does fireworks every night? Isn’t it great that _People_ feels really bad about messing up our schedule and wants us to have a great time in Orlando and they want to know if we want to go to Magic Kingdom tonight, for some food and some fireworks, their treat? And I said to _People_ , ‘Hmm, I don’t know, doesn’t sound like the type of thing the Reed children would be interested in but I’ll check—’”

 

“ _Matt_ ,” said Kylie, swatting at him. “Did you say yes?”

 

“Of _course_ he said yes,” said Hailey, with unerring faith, and pounced on Matt for a hug.

 

“I said yes.” Matt looked over Hailey’s head at Patrick. “Was that okay?”

 

Like Patrick was going to say no at this point. But Patrick had no desire to say no. He thought it was a fantastic idea. “Of course that was okay. Mrs Honeycutt—”

 

“I’ll watch Adam for you. It’s not a problem,” she said immediately.

 

“It’s just that he hates fireworks,” Patrick said, and, feeling a little guilty, stood up to sweep Adam into his arms for a cuddle. “Don’t worry, little one, tomorrow is going to be _entirely_ your day, I promise, hmm?” He kissed the side of Adam’s head, while Adam squirmed because it was a huge trial to be adored.

 

Kylie behind him said, “Matt, this is so awesome.”

 

Miranda said, “Yeah, thank you, Matt.”

 

Hailey said, “Matt’s the _best_.”

 

Patrick rolled his eyes and said, “Matt didn’t do anything. This is all _People_.”

 

“Matt met your father and told him to join this fabulous band he had called Swan,” said Matt.

 

“Don’t talk about yourself in the third person,” said Patrick.

 

Matt grinned.

 

***

 

It was amazing how much baseball hats helped. Matt, with a Braves hat shoved down over his hair and his rock-star chic wardrobe dialed back to un-ripped jeans and a Lakers t-shirt, was virtually unrecognizable, and certainly no one bothered them as they invaded Disney. They gave the kids the lead and ended up riding Splash Mountain more times than was necessary, getting drenched each time. Matt’s jeans fit him obscenely well—Matt didn’t seem to wear clothes that didn’t—and his wet t-shirt left nothing to the imagination, and Patrick would have cornered him somewhere and had his way with him just for that, to say nothing of how effortlessly Matt was teasing his kids. Patrick, a step behind them, watched as Matt said something that made them laugh and Kylie ducked her head and Matt reached out and tugged on a strand of her hair, grinning, and Kylie grinned back at him, and Patrick didn’t understand how he’d gotten this lucky, not on any level.

 

They ate dinner on the go, strolling between rides, Matt forcing all of them to wait in line for the Haunted Mansion because of professed adoration for it and the kids good-naturedly agreeing, and they let the girls go ahead of them into a pod together, Patrick and Matt taking the next one together.

 

“Okay, though,” Matt said, enthusiastic, “real talk, this ride is a thousand times better than Splash Mountain.”

 

“You’re still soaked,” Patrick said fondly.

 

Matt made a face. “I know.”

 

Patrick glanced around them, but they were in a part of the ride where this was their own little cocoon, so Patrick darted forward and kissed Matt, quick but sure.

 

“Oh,” said Matt, sounding amazed, on a startled inhale.

 

Patrick said, “You’re so…” and couldn’t think of what to say. “Charming,” he finished, which wasn’t at all what he meant.

 

Matt, after a moment, smiled, like he knew that wasn’t what Patrick had meant. “This is okay, right? That I told the kids we’d do this without asking you.”

“Matt. If this is going to work out the way I want this to work out. The way I think you want it to work out, too. Then we’re going to co-parent and talk to each other and absolutely make decisions together but I don’t want you to feel like I have the primary call. I feel like, if we make this work, we’re equals in this, right? They’re our kids. We bring them to Disney World together. It’s not a me decision. You wanted to come tonight, and even if I hadn’t wanted to—which isn’t true, I did—the fact that you wanted it is important enough in and of itself for me to respect.”

 

Matt, after a moment, his eyes shining in the very low light of the Haunted Mansion said, “You’re getting really good at therapy-speak.” Below them, ghosts swirled in a ghostly waltz but Patrick couldn’t look away from Matt.

 

Patrick said, “I’m trying. I want to thank you for being very patient with this mess I created here.”

 

Matt shook his head. “We both contributed to the mess. And it really isn’t a mess, it’s just…it’s just life,” Matt finished helplessly.

 

Patrick said, “Still. You’ve been incredible, and I want you to know that. Incredibly understanding, incredibly steady, incredibly…” Patrick trailed off, unsure what to say.

 

Matt said, “Incredibly everything I wasn’t for you before,” his tone ironic.

 

Patrick said, “We grew up. We were kids, and then we grew up. And the growing up? It’s been a good thing, I think. A really good thing for us. We were always going to fail spectacularly, Matt. We had no idea what we were doing.”

 

“Do you think we know what we’re doing now?”

 

“I think we know what we have to lose now,” said Patrick.

 

Matt looked across at him for a long moment, then cleared his throat and glanced out at the ghostly mirror they were drifting past. “How did it go with Hailey and the piano? I never even asked.”

 

“A lot happened yesterday,” said Patrick, letting him change the subject. He leaned back in the pod they were in and watched a ghostly bat flap past them. “And it went well. She’s enthusiastic and excited and thank you for noticing that.”

 

“Anytime,” said Matt. “I’ve got your blind spots covered.”

 

“Matt,” Patrick said, to make him look at him again, because it occurred to him suddenly that maybe Matt really needed to hear it. “I have no intention of breaking your heart, either.”

 

Matt looked like he’d really needed to hear it. He didn’t say anything, just nodded.

 

And then the ride was over and they got out of the pod together, and moved across the moving walkway, and Patrick didn’t take Matt’s hand but it was a near thing.

 

The kids were babbling enthusiastically about the ride.

 

“It was a little cheesy,” Miranda told Matt, “but it was pretty good.”

 

“ _You’re_ a little cheesy,” Kylie teased him, “so we decided to let it go.”

 

“I thought it was great,” Hailey chirruped cheerfully.

 

Patrick watched Matt settle back into his self-assured settled charm and say jovially, “It’s not cheesy, it’s a work of art.” And then he smiled at Patrick.

 

Patrick smiled back and said to the kids, “Okay, what’s next?”

 

And then they were off again.

 

***

 

Patrick checked on Adam, finding him sound asleep, and spent a little while just standing looking down at him in his crib, his baby-fine red hair spiked all over his head, his thumb close to his mouth like he’d been sucking it but it had fallen out, his cheeks rosy with sleep-warmth. He was so much bigger than the red, squalling infant who had been placed in Patrick’s arms a year ago, but he was still such a tiny baby, so dependent on Patrick to keep him safe and make him happy.

 

Patrick smoothed his hand ever so gently over the downy fluff on Adam’s head and said softly, “How are we doing, little one? Okay so far? Any complaints?” Patrick huffed out a self-deprecating laugh. “Never mind, forget I asked, I’m going to relish that you’re young enough that your complaints aren’t presented in bullet-pointed detail. Our system where you cry if I’ve upset you and I comfort you is working pretty well.” Patrick watched Adam take a couple of snuffling breaths. “Our system where you cry and every person around you spoils you,” he corrected himself fondly, “that system’s working out pretty well for you, isn’t it?”

 

He kept looking down at Adam, and thought of talking to Matt that day, of co-parenting and making decisions and having discussions and _co-parenting_ , a thing Patrick was slowly coming to realize he’d never once done with Ashley because that would have required a level of engagement Ashley hadn’t really had. Patrick was about to do something he’d never really done before, and he’d probably fuck it up a thousand different ways, and he was going to have to hope Matt kept being patient with him.

 

And in the meantime there was Adam, the only one of Patrick’s babies who would have two truly engaged parents, who would have Matt, with the determined dedication Matt was displaying this time around, with the open wonder with which Matt treated the children, with the casual comfort with which Matt had settled into his role. Patrick knew it was cliched when it came to the two of them but he had lucked out with Matt, or at least this version of him, who was so game for everything in Patrick’s life. And Adam had a whole lifetime of Matt ahead of him. Adam wouldn’t remember a time when Matt Usher didn’t have his back.

 

“Lucky kid,” Patrick murmured, and drew his fingertip gently over one of Adam’s tiny fists, and then left him to his slumber.

 

He checked on the girls, and found Hailey knocked out. Miranda was writing assiduously in a journal.

 

“What are you up to?” Patrick asked. “A diary?” Because that seemed unlike a Miranda impulse.

 

“Anna says that a documentarian is always documenting,” Miranda replied. “She gave me this notebook so I can document, too.”

 

Patrick smiled. He’d have to thank Anna for that. “That’s lovely,” he said, and left Miranda to it.

 

Kylie was on her phone, as usual.

 

Patrick said, “And what’s happening on the phone? Aboveboard goings-on?”

 

“I’m stalking your tag,” Kylie said, holding her phone out to him.

 

It was a picture of Matt standing somewhere in Disney World, his head turned to the side. It looked like he was paying attention to someone who wasn’t in the frame, probably one of the kids. Patrick scrolled through the tweets. _Is that Matt Usher????_ And _Confirmed, it definitely looks like him_ and _omg where was this taken?????_

 

“We can’t go anywhere,” Patrick remarked, and looked back at Kylie. “Is that a bad thing?”

 

“No.” Kylie shook her head and took her phone back. “It’s fine. If that’s what he comes with, that’s what he comes with. He’s good for you, you know.”

 

“Is this because he’s the reason for the outcome of the situation with your mother?” Patrick asked wryly.

 

“No,” Kylie said, “it’s because he’s _good_ for you, you have help now, and that’s good.”

 

“Even when we fight?” said Patrick.

 

“We’re just not used to that,” Kylie said. “We can get more used to it.”

 

Patrick shook his head. “I don’t want you to. We won’t fight much. We just… That was fifteen years coming.”

 

“I know,” Kylie said.

 

Patrick looked down at her for a moment. “I should have heard better what you were trying to tell me. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s okay,” Kylie replied. “Matt heard, and he’s here now.”

 

_Lucky kids_ , Patrick thought, and said, “Yeah. What time are you going to bed?”

 

“Soon?” Kylie guessed.

 

“Soon,” Patrick grinned. “Ten minutes. It’s late.”

 

Kylie nodded. Patrick wasn’t sure if she’d listen or not but there were worse ways for his teenager to rebel than pushing bedtime on summer vacation.

 

Yawning, he was making his way back through the living area when there was a knock on the door. He answered it on room service.

 

“Mr. Usher ordered some hot water with lemon and honey,” the waiter explained.

 

“Ah,” said Patrick, and signed for it and tipped and said, “Thank you,” and pushed the cart into the bedroom.

 

Matt was sitting cross-legged on the bed, with papers spread out around him.

 

“What are you doing?” Patrick asked curiously.

 

“Writing,” he said distractedly, gathering the pages up. “It’s a surprise for you.”

 

Patrick lifted his eyebrows. “It’s a surprise.”

 

Matt nodded and looked up at him. “Oh, is that my lemon honey water?”

 

Patrick nodded. “They brought a whole elaborate cart with a pitcher of hot water, a lemon, and a little jar of honey.”

 

“Well, we’re rock stars. They want to make sure we’re impressed.” Matt bounded off the bed and Patrick watched him fix his drink.

 

“How’s your throat?” he asked.

 

“It’s fine,” Matt said, and sipped his concoction.

 

“Hmm,” said Patrick thoughtfully.

 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Matt insisted.

 

“No more blowjobs,” Patrick proclaimed.

 

Matt rolled his eyes. “I’ve been very careful with the blowjobs. Very responsible with the blowjobs.”

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Patrick told him.

 

Matt smiled, looking pleased with himself. “I am.”

 

Patrick shook his head, and thought how helplessly besotted he was, after all this time. Really, he was apparently never going to stand a chance against Matt. “You know,” he remarked. “You’re prohibited from giving blowjobs but not receiving them.”

 

Matt laughed. “Lucky me.”

 

“Indeed,” said Patrick, and pushed him back onto the bed.

 

***

 

Matt, panting for breath and looking at the ceiling over his head, managed to say, “Hey.”

 

Patrick, brushing his nose against Matt’s, nuzzling aimlessly over the stubble on Matt’s jaw, grunted.

 

“Can you pass me the honey lemon water?” Matt asked.

 

Patrick lifted his head, looking indignant, and Matt laughed until he couldn’t breathe anymore.

 

“You’re an asshole,” Patrick said. “You are _such_ an asshole. After I just blew you rather spectacularly.”

 

“It was spectacular,” Matt agreed, and pulled Patrick in for a fond, happy kiss.

 

“What’s this song you’re writing without me?” Patrick murmured against Matt’s lips.

 

“Uh-uh.” Matt shook his head and reached for the zipper on Patrick’s jeans. “Nope. It’s a surprise.”

 

“Should I be jealous?” Patrick asked.

 

“You should be paying attention to my hand on your dick,” said Matt.

 

Patrick laughed, a little breathless, and leaned his forehead against Matt’s shoulder. “I’m—paying attention—fuck.”

 

“Hmm,” Matt hummed, and nudged Patrick’s head to the right angle for him to bite Patrick’s ear.

 

Patrick made a guttural noise, his breath tearing, and gasped, “Christ, how do you feel so good, you’re—”

 

Matt took his hand away, and Patrick bit out a whine of protest.

 

“On your back,” Matt said, shoving at him. “Give me space to work here.”

 

Patrick rolled, complaining, “You’re a tease.”

 

“Oh, stop it,” said Matt, “I’m the opposite of a tease, get this shirt off.” He pushed at it, and Patrick pulled it over his head, and Matt descended onto Patrick’s chest, devouring it greedily. Patrick made wonderful sounds, at the swipe of Matt’s tongue over his nipple, at the nip of his teeth along Patrick’s ribcage, at the brush of his lips over Patrick’s navel.

 

And then Matt dipped down and Patrick tugged at Matt’s hair and said, “Don’t. No blowjobs, remember?”

 

Matt resisted Patrick for a moment, only because he needed a moment to press his face against Patrick’s abdomen and love him so much that it _hurt_. Because here was Patrick, in the heat of the moment, when he should have been out of his mind with desire, still worrying about the state of Matt’s throat.

 

Matt moved back up Patrick’s body to kiss him, filthy and wet, and bring him off with expert twists of his wrist, because Matt wasn’t an inexperienced kid anymore and Matt especially knew what Patrick liked.

 

“You’re the ridiculous one,” Matt said, kissing Patrick as he sloppily tried to kiss back, uncoordinated with his orgasm. “The world’s not going to end if I suck your cock.”

 

“It’s—hardly as important—as your voice,” Patrick managed around Matt’s kisses.

 

“I disagree with that,” Matt said. “I disagree with that _a lot_.”

 

“Stop,” Patrick said, wrapping his arm around Matt and pulling him in. “If anyone’s going to worry about my penis, it should be me.”

 

“You don’t worry about it nearly enough,” said Matt, adjusting himself on Patrick so he wasn’t suffocating him. “It complains to me, you know.”

 

“Oh, yeah? When does it do that?”

 

“When you’re sleeping,” Matt said. Patrick looked about to fall asleep now, his eyes closed and his banter muzzy on the edges. Matt regarded him with unabashed affection. “I’m just very fond of your penis. I’m very fond of _you_.”

 

Patrick’s mouth tipped up into a smile. “That goes both ways, darling,” he said.

 

Matt smiled back, his heart far too big for his chest, as he finished the lyric. “You make me lose my head.”

 

“What’s the surprise?” Patrick asked sleepily.

 

“Christ, you’re bad at this,” said Matt, amused. “It’s a _surprise_.”

 

“You don’t need to surprise me,” Patrick said.

 

“I know I don't _need_ to. I just _want_ to. Surprises aren’t obligations. That’s like an oxymoron. Do I need to educate you on surprises?”

 

Matt was joking, bantering automatically, but Patrick replied absently, “Well, it's been a while.”

 

And Matt thought, _Of course_. It had definitely been a while since Patrick had been romantically surprised. It had been a while for Matt, too, but Matt needed that kind of thing less, on the whole. It was a difference in their love languages. Matt enjoyed a surprise as much as the next person but felt loved by a constant steadiness of adoration, whereas Patrick discerned love from grand gestures. Matt had spent a lot of time over the past fifteen years figuring that out about the two of them.

 

Matt wanted to say, _Christ, Ashley was such an idiot that she got you the way she had you and she didn’t pay attention_. But Ashley had only gotten Patrick because Matt had been the idiot first, so he wasn’t exactly a person who should be throwing stones.

 

Matt shifted, moving off of Patrick. They were sweaty and sticky and he needed to clean them up, especially since Patrick was clearly falling asleep, but this seemed important to him to say. He said, “I want to spoil you. Will you let me?”

 

Patrick murmured, “Mmm, sounds nice.”

 

Matt leaned over and kissed the tip of Patrick’s nose, then got out of bed and fetched a washcloth. Then sat up next to Patrick while he slept, sipping on his honey lemon water and making notations on the sheet music he spread out on his lap, and he’d done this before, of course, written music while Patrick slept, in hotel rooms and buses and Patrick’s cozy, crowded bed, in those days when they never left it.

 

***

 

“You never leave,” Patrick said, his voice still rough with sleep, as he drowsily nuzzled himself closer to where Matt was sitting up in bed, scratching out lyrics.

 

Matt froze and looked at Patrick’s mop of unruly red hair, disappearing under the blanket, tucked up against him. “Um,” he said.

 

“Uh-oh,” said Patrick, and stretched. “That’s your panic um.”

 

“I don’t have a panic um,” Matt protested.

 

Patrick looked up at him, smiling, his hair all over the place in wild cowlicks. He looked fucking _adorable_ , and Matt could have hated him if Matt didn’t love him so fucking much that he hadn’t left his bed in…he’d lost count of the days. “You have a panic um, Matthew.”

 

Patrick did this, called him _Matthew_ every once in a while, and it had the weird effect of a term of endearment on him. Matt had never said it was his full name, Patrick had just fallen into it, and he usually used it when he was teasing him, and it made Matt’s heart skip a beat every time. Maybe it was just a Patrick thing, a full-name habit.

 

Patrick pulled himself up, dotting kisses along Matt as he went, until he was lined up with him.

 

Matt licked his lips and managed to ask, “Do you want me to leave?”

 

Patrick laughed. “Matt. Did you think that was what I was working up to here?”

 

“I just…” Sometimes—all the time?—Matt felt dangerously off-balance with Patrick, like he wasn’t sure of his footing. Then again, it had only been a few days. Or a lifetime. “You said—”

 

“I only meant that you don’t need to go to class or anything? You are literally _always_ here when I get back from class.”

 

Matt swallowed. “I don’t really…go to class.”

 

“Ever?” said Patrick.

 

“I don’t go to school here,” said Matt.

 

Patrick blinked, and Matt hated that he could _see_ Patrick’s thoughts recalibrating. “Oh. Right. I don’t know why I assumed—Sorry.”

 

“Everyone always assumes,” said Matt, trying to be blithe about it and putting his lyrics aside. “Hey, let’s have sex.”

 

“Hang on,” said Patrick, and put a hand on Matt’s chest to keep him away, frowning at him. “You know I don’t care, right? Why would I care?”

 

Matt shrugged. “I don’t know.” Patrick had stupid, stupid eyes, a clear green-gray that were so quietly assessing, that always seemed like they were seeing right through Matt. “People care.”

 

“ _I_ don’t care. It’s completely irrelevant to me.”

 

Matt rolled his eyes.

 

“What’s that for?” asked Patrick, still frowning.

 

“It’s relevant. It’s going to be relevant. It’s always relevant.”

 

“What are you talking about?” said Patrick.

 

“Okay, look, here’s the deal. I’m not in school here because I don’t have the money to go to school here. I don’t really have the money for _anything_ here. I ended up here because it was the first bus out of town when I ran away.”

 

“When you ran away?” echoed Patrick.

 

“And then when I got here it seemed like a decent enough place. I can do pretty well with odd jobs here and there, it’s a college town so I can pick up random gigs, I’m pretty good at fading into the background as substitute guitarist number two or whatever. And it’s not like I have any money to go anywhere else, so I stay here. And I’ve made some friends and it’s cool. So. That’s my story. And now we’ve got that out there and you can, you know, be horrified.”

 

“Why would I be horrified?” asked Patrick, sounding honestly perplexed. “Have you killed someone?”

 

Matt blinked. “What? No.”

 

“Then why were you running away?”

 

“You think I was running away because I _killed_ someone? That’s your assumption?”

 

“No, that’s my assumption because you think I’m going to be horrified. Unless you killed someone, my main assumption is you probably had a good reason to run away.”

 

Patrick looked like he believed that. Patrick looked steady and calm and completely not thrown by any of this. Matt hadn’t met a lot of people in his life who were _steady_. Patrick was like a rock in front of him, and Matt almost didn’t know what to do with that.

 

“Look,” Patrick said. “It’s all whatever. Right? Like, you don’t need to tell me all this. You don’t need to tell me _anything_.”

 

“Of _course_ I do—” Matt began.

 

“I mean,” Patrick interrupted him, “you don’t need to tell me it until you feel like it’s not a horrible thing to tell me. Until you realize that I really won’t care.” Patrick leaned forward, gave him a breath of a kiss. “I really don’t care,” he whispered. “And you don’t have to leave. You never have to leave. You can just stay, okay?”

 

Matt nodded wordlessly, because he couldn’t say anything. He felt dangerously close to tears.

 

“Just stay,” Patrick said again, and dipped his head to brush a kiss over Matt’s shoulder. “Stay with me.”

 

Matt swallowed thickly and managed, “Dangerous. Give me an inch and I’ll take a mile.”

 

Patrick chuckled and lifted his head up and nipped at Matt’s lips. “I look forward to it. You can take anything you like with that smile of yours.”

 

“There’s a lyric in there somewhere,” said Matt.

 

“We’ll find it later,” said Patrick, and pushed him backward onto the bed.

 

***

 

They were at Disney bright and early the next morning, and none of the girls even complained about the wake-up call. Adam consented to allow a pair of mouse ears to be plopped onto his head, because he was too busy staring at _everything_ , and pointing, and babbling about it at great length. He looked astonished, like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

 

Matt said, as they strolled down Main Street together, trailing the girls, “Hey. Co-parenting time.”

 

Patrick laughed. “Is it? What’s up?”

 

“It’s Adam’s birthday and I think we should have ice cream for breakfast.”

 

“Do it,” Patrick said, because Matt looked so enormously eager that Patrick couldn’t bear to disappoint him.

 

Patrick thought there was going to be a million photographs from the day. Matt was incognito but somehow the costume looked less effective than it had been the day before. Sometimes the force of Matt’s charisma couldn’t be dimmed, and people turned to watch him as they walked past, frowning, like he reminded them of someone and they couldn’t think who. And Patrick also thought he wasn’t sure he cared. Whatever, there would be pictures. It was Adam’s first birthday, and he deserved the most special day Patrick could muster for him.

 

And Adam was _delighted_. He clapped his hands with enthusiasm through It’s a Small World and adored Dumbo and squealed with glee at the Flying Carpets. Patrick drew the line at the Mad Tea Party, but Matt said he was up for it, and Patrick snapped a picture on his phone of the group of them laughing together, Matt leaned toward Adam to amuse him, as Adam clutched at him.

 

And then when they got off the ride, Matt said, “That may have been a poor decision on my part.”

 

Patrick laughed at him and accepted Adam from him. “Told you.”

 

“Okay,” said Kylie. “Can we go on Space Mountain?”

 

“Oh, God,” Matt said. “I’m not doing any roller coasters right now.”

 

“I’ll go with them,” Patrick said. “You shouldn’t do any roller coasters today anyway.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Your throat,” Patrick said. “Have you not realized it was bothering you last night because you were shouting on Splash Mountain yesterday?”

 

“ _Oh_ ,” said Matt, apparently never having thought about that.

 

Patrick shook his head at him and handed Adam back and almost kissed him before catching himself, and then he said, “We’ll be back.”

 

“Adam and I are going to sit very still and recover,” Matt said.

 

“He’s a total baby,” Hailey decreed as they headed toward Space Mountain.

 

Patrick laughed. “Agreed.”

 

***

 

Matt was downing honey lemon water, which wasn’t like him before a concert. Patrick narrowed his eyes at him. “What’s up with your throat?”

 

Matt shook his head. “I’m fine.”

 

“It’s too many blowjobs,” Anna said. “Stop being selfish, Trick.”

 

“Wow,” said Patrick. “Can we not say things like that in front of my kids?”

 

Anna gave him a look. “I didn’t. They’re all the way over there being charmed by those other tiny children.”

 

“That’s our opening act,” Patrick pointed out.

 

“Exactly. They are tiny children.”

 

“They are,” Matt agreed. “They were infants in the cradle when Swan was big.”

 

“They weren’t. You’re exaggerating. Should we call a doctor or something?”

 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Matt insisted. “It isn’t too many blowjobs. There’s nothing wrong with my throat.”

 

“What’s up, Swan?” David asked, coming over to them with a bottle of water in his hand.

 

“Matt’s been giving Patrick too many blowjobs,” said Anna.

 

“Okay,” said David. “I’m going back over there.” And turned around and walked away.

 

“Anna,” Matt complained.

 

“Stop talking,” Patrick told him. “Save your voice. I’m going to complain to Anna.”

 

“I’m going to my dressing room,” Anna decided. “You two are boring.”

“She’s awful,” Matt said loudly as she walked away.

 

“Shh,” Patrick said to him.

 

“My throat is fine. Stop worrying. Hey, do you mind people knowing it’s Adam’s birthday? Like, at the concert tonight?”

 

“Everyone knows it’s his birthday,” Patrick said wryly. “We were all over Twitter.”

 

Matt winced. “So it’s a little late for me to worry about, you’re saying.”

 

“Hey,” Patrick said, surprised. “No. I’m not saying that. I’m not blaming you.”

 

“It’s all a little bit my fault,” said Matt. “You were happy in obscurity, and I said, ‘Let’s do a tour.’”

 

“Matt,” Patrick said, smiling at him. “Darling. That’s the entire story of our relationship. I am always happy in my obscurity, and you are always talking to me of spotlights.”

 

***

 

Patrick was happy in his obscurity, and Matt was talking to him of spotlights.

 

“But,” Matt was saying as they walked down the street together, “you’d be so good at it. You play the piano so beautifully. You play it so much better than I do.”

 

Patrick thought it was a sign of progress in their relationship that they’d gotten out of bed. He was regretting the progress at that moment. “I don’t play it better than you.”

 

“You do, and I never admit anyone does anything better than me, so just embrace the moment, Trick.” Matt sketched out something grandiose in the air in front of them.

 

“Trick?” Patrick echoed. “What’s that?”

 

“Mmm, that’s what I’m calling you,” said Matt, with a sideways look at him, wicked and tempting and oh-so-kissable.

 

“Why?” said Patrick, bewildered but charmed, which he generally was.

 

“You need a nickname. And obviously ‘Pat’ doesn’t work.”

 

“‘Trick’ doesn’t work,” said Patrick, wrinkling his nose. “In what universe am I a Trick?”

 

Matt laughed. “This one. The best magic trick. That’s you.”

 

Patrick shook his head. “You’ve got the strangest impression of me. I am very boring.”

 

“You have no idea who you are,” Matt said confidently.

 

“Tell me, then,” said Patrick.

 

“You’re a rock star,” said Matt. “You just don’t know it yet.”

 

“You’re an incredibly entertaining person,” Patrick said. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

 

Matt laughed. “I am pleased you think so. Come and meet the rest of the band. At least come see us. Can we just agree to that?”

 

“What have you told them about me?” Patrick asked. He was reluctant to meet these people Matt kept talking about. These people would all see him for what he really was instead of through Matt’s sex-addled glasses, and they would make Matt realize how incredibly dull Patrick really was.

 

“I’ve told them I met a pianist who’s been writing songs with me, and that I thought you could help out with the band.”

 

“And what did they say?” Patrick asked.

 

“They said ‘cool.’ Honestly, they’re totally laidback people and they’re going to love you.”

 

“Do they just let you boss them around?” Patrick asked, because that seemed like the kind of band Matt would assemble.

 

Matt pouted extravagantly. “That is an unfair characterization.”

 

“Is it?” said Patrick, amused now.

 

“It’s just that I’m the lead singer. It comes with perks.”

 

Patrick chuckled. “I bet it does.”

 

“Listen, Trick,” said Matt.

 

“The Trick thing doesn’t work,” Patrick insisted. “How are you even saying it with a straight face?”

 

“It suits you,” Matt replied. “Anyway, you have a nickname for me. I need to have a nickname for you.”

 

“What’s my nickname for you?” Patrick asked, racking his brain over what terms of endearment he might have used.

 

“Matthew,” Matt said. “You call me Matthew, when you’re teasing me.”

 

Patrick stopped walking, struck by that. “Oh. I do.”

 

Matt stopped walking as well, turning back to him. “It’s fine. I don’t mind it.” Matt shrugged. “I like it. I’m just saying. You have a term of endearment for me. I should have one for you.”

 

“It’s just your name,” Patrick said. “It is your name, isn’t it?”

 

Matt nodded.

 

The bright autumn sunlight caught in Matt’s dark hair, bringing out glints of gold Patrick had never noticed, and Matt’s expressive eyes were squinting against the onslaught of it, and Matt looked impossibly beautiful, impossibly precious, impossibly _everything_.

 

Patrick suddenly and abruptly wanted to know every fucking thing about him. And Patrick had felt that way all along but it seemed extra-pressing there in the daylight, instead of curled with him in a sex-hot bed. Patrick said, “Matthew what?”

 

Matt frowned. “Usher.”

 

“No middle name?”

 

“Oh. Jonathan.”

 

“Matthew Jonathan Usher,” Patrick repeated. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Patrick Simon Reed.”

 

“Trick,” Matt said, with a smile.

 

“I’ll go meet your band,” Patrick said.

 

Matt’s smile turned even more dazzling.

 

“Just because I want to hear them play,” Patrick said. “Not because I want to join a band.”

 

“Not just any band,” Matt said. “Swan.”

 

“It’s a ridiculous name for a band.”

 

“It’s awesome,” Matt said. “You’ll see.”

 

***

 

Matt stood in front of his microphone with a crowd sprawled out in front of him and said, “Hello, Orlando! We’re Swan!”

 

The crowd cheered, and Matt said conversationally, “You know, when I chose the name Swan for this band, there were some people—” Matt cleared his throat and pointedly did not look over at Patrick—“who said it was a ridiculous name for a band.”

 

There was a smattering of boos interspersed with a bit of clapping, like the crowd couldn’t quite figure out how it ought to react.

 

So Matt said to them, “It’s a fucking awesome name for a band!” and the crowd broke into loud cheers of approval.

 

Matt stepped back from the microphone, settling his guitar more comfortably in his hands, and grinned over at Patrick, who shook his head at him and leaned forward and said into the microphone, “The band’s name is _Swan_.” There was a bit of laughter. “I rest my case.”

 

“You let me name it Swan,” Matt reminded him. “Anna and David both love it.”

 

“You get away with things,” Patrick responded, to cheers from the crowd. “You’re the lead singer.”

 

Matt looked back at the crowd. “I’m the fucking lead singer,” he told them, and laughed when they cheered louder.

 

“They’re always on your side,” Patrick said, but the cheers increased for him.

 

“Aww,” Matt said, glancing at Patrick. “Patrick feels unloved.” The cheers had increased to a level where Matt was having to shout over them now. “Which isn’t at all true. Stand up and take a bow, Trick.”

 

Patrick did, to wild applause, and then sat back down at his piano. “Thank you,” he said into the microphone, grinning.

 

“Okay, back to me,” said Matt, and the crowd laughed, as did Patrick, which was always more important. “Actually,” Matt continued, “before we get on with the concert, first we’re doing this. Today was Patrick’s son Adam’s first birthday. So we’re going to sing him Happy Birthday, and you lovely people are going to record it and upload it for him, so in the future we can tell him that thousands of people wished him a happy first birthday.” Matt waited for the crowd’s _aww_ s to subside before he said, “Okay, here we go, on the count of three.”

 

When he hit three, he was pleasantly surprised when Patrick layered chords under the rendition of Happy Birthday, and when they were done Matt said, “Happy birthday, Adam. He’s asleep right now but he’ll get the idea.”

 

“Thank you for that, too,” Patrick said, and maybe he was partly talking to the audience, but Matt knew he was mostly talking to him.

 

Matt smiled over at him and said, “Let’s play something we wrote.”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” said Patrick, because _Scheme_ was next.

 

“Baby, hold out your hand,” Matt agreed.

 

***

 

_Houston_

 

Matt was watching Patrick get ready for their interview. By pulling on a random shirt he’d grabbed.

 

Matt was biting his tongue.

 

Patrick caught sight of him in the mirror behind him and said, “They’re going to have stylists. They’re going to dress me in whatever they want. It doesn’t matter what I look like.”

 

“I know,” said Matt, because he did, but he’d still carefully chosen his outfit and carefully done his hair. They’d redo everything but he wanted to look the part.

 

Patrick smiled at him through the mirror. “You’re doing so well.”

 

Matt blinked. “Well with what?”

 

“With not making comments about how I dress.”

 

Matt frowned. “Christ, I was insufferable, wasn’t I?”

 

“No,” said Patrick, turning away from the mirror. “You weren’t. You were the lead singer of a big deal band and all eyes were on you, and you had a keen grasp of marketing. You were the reason why we were a success, it was hard to argue with you.”

 

Matt shook his head. “We’re all why it was a success. I couldn’t have done it on my own.”

 

Patrick threaded his fingers through Matt’s belt loops, pulled him in. “You’re so good at what you do. Let me tell you that.”

 

“Okay,” Matt allowed, and brushed his finger over the faded hickey on the base of Patrick’s neck. “Hmm,” he mused. “It’s almost gone.”

 

“Matt,” said Patrick. “I understand the impulse, but, really, do you have any doubt in your head how much I’m yours?”

 

It wasn’t internal doubt. It was more having something external. It was having the world at large know they were a package deal. It was _getting married_.

 

Patrick said in concern, “Matt. Hey,” and put his index finger under Matt’s chin to tip his face so he could catch his eyes. Patrick looked quizzical and worried. “Do you doubt that?”

 

“No,” Matt said, being sure to keep Patrick’s gaze. “I do not doubt that. At all.” Patrick’s brow was still furrowed so Matt insisted, “I don’t.”

 

Patrick said slowly, “I believe you. But there’s something else wrong.”

 

Matt shook his head. “It’s not wrong. It’s right.” Matt took a shaky breath and pressed his face into the curve of Patrick’s shoulder and said, “I’m just so happy to be doing this with you again. All of this, of course, but the press especially. I’m really looking forward to having you next to me for this interview.” Which was very true.

 

Patrick lifted his arm to hold Matt closer, but Matt could sense that he was still a bit reluctant to let it go at that.

 

There was a knock on the suite door, and all three girls called in unison, “Dad!”

 

“We’re ready,” Matt said, brushing a kiss over Patrick’s shoulder and stepping back.

 

“Hey.” Patrick caught at his hand. “Matt. You’d tell me if there was something wrong, right?”

 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Matt said.

 

“You’d tell me if there was something wrong,” Patrick continued evenly, like Matt hadn’t spoken, his face almost grimly determined, “so I could fix it.”

 

Matt was silent for a moment.

 

Rachel said from the bedroom doorway, “Hey, your kids let me in. Are you ready to go?”

 

“Give us a second,” Patrick said, without looking away from Matt.

 

“Okay,” said Rachel, sounding curious, but Matt heard her walk away from the door.

 

“There is nothing wrong,” Matt said. “The only thing that’s wrong is that I’m so happy that I worry about it.”

 

Patrick didn’t blink. Patrick had blinked so seldom in their relationship and Matt was suddenly so stunningly grateful for that. “And what can I do to help with that?” he asked, steady and even.

 

“Be you,” Matt said helplessly, without even intending to say it. “Just keep being you. It’s okay. I’m going to get there.” And he realized that he meant it. He meant every word of it. Patrick was _Patrick_ , who he knew even now like the back of his hand, and Patrick would eventually want commitment, Patrick would talk marriage, because Patrick was that kind of person, and Matt just needed to be patient, to wait for Patrick to catch up to Matt’s comfort level with their future.

 

Patrick, after a moment, said, “ _We’re_ going to get there,” and then reached out to quickly intertwine their fingers and squeeze Matt’s hand.

 

Matt nodded.

 

***

 

They started with the photo shoot, which meant they were taken in opposite directions and styled.

 

Matt was done first, and led out to a room with a lot of pale wood and a grand piano with the lid closed.  

 

The photographer was fiddling around with his camera and waved in Matt’s general direction vaguely. “Feel free to get acquainted with the piano while I get ready.”

 

“Get acquainted with the piano?” Matt echoed blankly.

 

“You know, get familiar with it.”

 

Matt drew his eyebrows together, wondering if this photographer thought he wasn’t already familiar with the musical instrument known as a piano. He looked at the piano and shrugged and walked around it. He assumed the bench was going to be reserved for Patrick, since the piano was Patrick’s associated instrument. So Matt went back around to the other side of the piano.

 

And then he did something he’d wanted to do his entire life and had actually never done: He got up on the piano. At first he just sat on the edge of it, and then he sprawled out on his back, looking up at the ceiling over his head.

 

It wasn’t comfortable, he thought.

 

“What,” said Patrick in surprise, “are you doing?”

 

Matt tipped his head back a little so he could see him, standing by the bench and looking quizzically down at him. In the upside-down image of him that Matt had, he could see that Patrick had been barely styled at all, in jeans and a simple white t-shirt. His hair had been coaxed into the cowlicks that usually didn’t show up until later in the day, and he looked tousled in the best sort of way, like he’d just rolled out of bed and shown up to a photo shoot. He also looked like he was holding his head very carefully, as if he didn’t want to disturb whatever magic had been worked on his hair.

 

“I’m getting acquainted with the piano,” Matt said.

 

“That sounds… That sounds filthy.” Patrick kept his voice pitched low enough for the photographer not to hear them.

 

Matt grinned at him. “You look good,” he said.

 

“You look sinful on that piano like that,” Patrick admitted.

 

Matt tried to imagine the picture he must present. He’d been given obscenely tailored tuxedo pants paired with a snow-white dress shirt open at the throat, half tucked-in and -out, and he was laid out like a feast in front of Patrick at the moment.

 

Matt’s grin widened.

 

Patrick cleared his throat. “You’re not doing this for the photo shoot, are you?”

 

“No, but this is very useful information that I am filing away for the future.”

 

“I don’t have an objection to that,” Patrick smiled.

 

“Obviously not,” Matt rejoined lightly. “I do have an idea as to your tells at this point, darling.” Matt rolled off the piano. “Just so you know, though, it’s tremendously uncomfortable.”

 

“I bet I could make it work,” said Patrick.

 

Matt leaned against the curve of the piano and laughed at him.

 

“Okay,” the photographer called out. “Patrick, you maybe just want to get acquainted with the piano a bit.”

 

“He seems to think we’re unfamiliar with pianos,” Matt murmured to Patrick.

 

Patrick’s lips twitched in a smile. He sat at the piano and dramatically pounded out the opening of Beethoven’s Fifth, before calling over to the photographer. “I’m familiar with it.”

 

“Okay,” the photographer said. “So, Matt, you’re going to stand right where you are.”

 

Matt put on the sunglasses he’d been holding. Matt always insisted on sunglasses when he was being photographed. He’d only left the sunglasses off a couple of times, most notably for a _Rolling Stone_ cover that had accompanied his first solo album. The photo had been praised as incredible and soul-revealing and Matt had hated it for exactly that reason, for the way his eyes staring out of the magazine cover seemed to be all-knowing and too deep by half, that when you looked at them you could tell immediately that Matt Usher had no clue and was faking almost everything, flailing around uncertainly, and he had insisted on the sunglasses ever since.

 

The photographer said, “Patrick, keep your hands on the keys like that.”

 

“Okay,” said Patrick.

 

“Talk to each other,” the photographer commanded.

 

“You don’t want us looking at you?” said Matt.

 

The photographer shook his head. “Talk to each other,” he prompted again.

 

Matt turned his head to look at Patrick, leaned more heavily on the piano. “Hello,” he said.

 

“Hello,” Patrick replied gravely, posed stiffly behind the keys.

 

“Maybe play something, Patrick,” suggested the photographer.

 

Patrick played the opening chords to _Forever_.

 

Matt smiled at him. “You could play _Trick Up Your Sleeve_.”

 

Patrick shrugged. “ _Forever_ is less work.”

 

“Ouch,” said Matt.

 

Patrick laughed a little.

 

Matt tried to see out of the corner of his eye if the photographer was pleased Matt had gotten Patrick to relax for him.

 

The photographer didn’t seem appreciative. He called out, “Okay, let’s try facing me.”

 

Matt turned to face the photographer.

 

Patrick stopped playing and said, sounding awkwardly, “Did you want me to…?”

 

“That’s fine. You’re fine,” the photographer said, but he sounded frustrated, and after a second he put his camera down. “Okay,” he said. “You just seem a bit disconnected from each other. I thought talking to each other might help, but—”

 

Matt was on the wrong side of the piano for connection, he thought. “Can I move?” he interrupted.

 

“What?” said the photographer.

 

“Can I change where I’m standing?”

 

“Where would you rather stand?” asked the photographer, sounding perplexed.

 

“I’d rather sit,” said Matt, and moved around to the piano bench.

 

Patrick moved over automatically, because they shared a piano bench all the time.

 

But Matt, instead of sitting the right way, sat backward, leaning back and putting his elbows delicately against the piano keys behind him.

 

Patrick looked at him and tipped the corner of his mouth up in a smile.

 

The photographer said, “Look at me, please.”

 

Matt turned his head, and he took the shot.

 

***

 

“How did it go?” Rachel asked fretfully when they got back.

 

Rachel always asked things fretfully. Patrick felt bad about that. “It went fine. You didn’t sit around here the whole time worrying, did you?”

 

“No,” Rachel said, uncertainly, like that was exactly what she’d done.

 

“You should have played the piano,” said Matt. “You would have felt better. The interview went well, we bantered beautifully.” Matt disappeared into his dressing room.

 

Patrick looked back at Rachel and smiled kindly. “Really. We’re fine. Don’t worry. We used to do interviews together all the time. We’re still pretty good at them.”

 

“Doesn’t anybody ever ask you…” Rachel trailed off.

 

“If we’re fucking?” asked Patrick, smiling drily.

 

“Well, I didn’t want to put it so bluntly,” said Rachel.

 

“No one ever does,” said Patrick. “Everyone’s always very polite. But yeah, we do get asked leading questions about the nature of our relationship. We’re like the Bert and Ernie of the music world.”

 

“Is that what you say?” Rachel sounded genuinely curious.

 

“No, we say we’re soulmates,” Patrick said. “And people always assume we mean artistically, even though I’m sitting right there with a hickey on my neck from him. Because until we actually say ‘yes, we’re fucking,’ no one’s ever going to assume we’re fucking.”

 

“Or everyone just pretends,” said Rachel.

 

“Yes,” Patrick said. “That, too.”

 

“So why don’t you just tell everyone?” Rachel still sounded curious, like she couldn’t understand why they would have made such choices.

 

“Well,” said Patrick. “The first time around? That’s a whole fight I don’t want to get into that eventually broke us up. This time around?” Patrick took a deep breath and considered. “I think we’re feeling our way. I think we don’t want to make us about everyone else until we have the us better under control for _us_. And it’s…been a lot. Kind of a whirlwind, honestly.” Patrick couldn’t believe how quickly his life had changed, honestly. Only a couple of months ago, the idea of ever seeing Matt again was unthinkable, and this morning he’d woken up, the way he had for many mornings now, right next to him. And was seriously contemplating the possibility that this could just be the rest of their lives. He kept waiting for them to hit some kind of insurmountable obstacle, it felt like one should be looming any minute now, but so far there was just _Matt_ , a thousand times better than it had been when they had been too young and stupid to get it right.

 

“He’s okay, right?” Rachel said. “You’ve been looking concerned. He’s an enigma to me, but you I can figure out.”

 

Patrick laughed. “He’s hardly an enigma, he’s got the most expressive eyes in the universe, he’s always trying to hide how he wears all of his emotions on his sleeve.”

 

“That’s what you get out of him,” said Rachel, with a trace of bitterness. “I get hostility.”

 

“That’s a defense mechanism,” Patrick said. “He’s supposed to be working on that.”

 

“I’m sure he is. Mostly by just letting you do most of the talking to me.”

 

Patrick chuckled, because that was the most Matt way of dealing with problems. “He’s fine.”

 

“So why were you worried about him?”

 

“He seemed to be acting like his throat was bothering him, but he’s been better today, so I don’t know, maybe it was something about the air in Orlando that didn’t agree with him.”

 

“Oh, no,” said Rachel, looking vaguely panicked. “Is he prone to throat issues?”

 

“No,” Patrick said. “No more than any other rock star. Really, he’s fine. He knows how to take care of himself.”

 

“Fuck,” Rachel said, “please don’t let that be famous last words.”

 

***

 

Their Houston show was phenomenal. Matt’s energy was running high and he bounced around more than usual. Patrick was surprised by him snaking his way behind him for a couple of songs, and he threw him entirely by sitting next to him for an entire verse of _Luck_ , grinning as he forced him to lean in to share the microphone with him on the harmony. Patrick was a little quizzical, but also pleased, because Matt had seemed introspective that morning and now he seemed unleashed. That could be dangerous but there was nothing but a happy glow around him. He stopped to play his now traditional lower half of _Heart and Soul_ in the darkness at the end of the concert and Patrick looked at him as he played his half automatically.

 

“Good night, Houston!” Matt shouted into Patrick’s microphone, and Patrick stomped his fingers down on a final flourishing chord and turned to look at him.

 

Matt grinned. His hair was drenched with sweat, plastered to his head, any style he’d had in it completely sodden out of it. His shirt was wilted against him. The sweat was a sheen on the curve of his throat, glistening in an odd invitation, and there was a time when Patrick had been young and Matt had been irresistible in this state, and now Patrick made him shower before he let him anywhere near him, and suddenly that seemed like the most absurdly practical nonsense.

 

Suddenly Patrick wanted Matt _right fucking now_.

 

Matt’s grin faded. Patrick reached out to push his sunglasses up onto the top of his head so he could see his eyes, which were glittering dark and heavy-lidded.

 

Patrick said thickly, with meaning, “Fuck.” Luckily their mics were off.

 

“Get us somewhere,” Matt ordered, and his voice would have been husky at this point of the night anyway, but he had tipped well over into sex voice. “Now.”

 

Patrick practically knocked the piano bench over with the speed with which he stood up. Matt followed him.

 

Anna turned to them as they came off-stage and said, “Hey, you two—”

 

“Not now,” Patrick told her sharply.

 

Matt didn’t even acknowledge her. They ducked past everyone in the hallway and into Patrick’s empty dressing room by tacit agreement.

 

Patrick slammed the door shut behind them and turned the lock and grabbed for Matt, twisting his hand into his shirt and tugging him, shoving him back up against the door. Matt, because he was Matt, spread his legs to make room for Patrick between them, pulling Patrick in against him in a fluid motion.

 

“Matt,” Patrick growled, pulling his shirt up out of his pants to get at skin. He leaned forward to lick into Matt’s mouth, not really a kiss, more a taunt, teasing Matt, winding him up.

 

“Fuck,” Matt panted, his hands clumsy as he grabbed at Patrick’s hair and tried to get him to commit to a kiss.

 

Patrick resisted, grinning, pulling back from Matt’s mouth and getting into his pants.

 

“Fuck,” Matt said again, his hips stuttering.

 

“You are,” Patrick told him, dragging kisses over Matt’s chest as he sank to his knees, “the most incredible—fuck, you were incredible tonight—”

 

“Jesus Christ,” said Matt, his hands clenching painfully as Patrick went down on him.

 

Patrick wanted to give him the blowjob of his life. Of course, Patrick always wanted that, but there was a particular sharpness to this desperate sex they were having. He wanted to get Matt off, gasping his name, he wanted to send him spinning off into the stratosphere, have him hanging onto him for dear life.

 

Matt said urgently, “Patrick, Patrick,” and tugged hard at Patrick’s hair, until Patrick gave in and pulled off, and then Matt dropped to his knees with him and managed to get Patrick’s pants open, swearing over the zipper.

 

Patrick flinched for a moment, because Matt wasn’t being gentle, but then Matt got a hand around him and Patrick suddenly thought he might come immediately, couldn’t help the thrust he gave into Matt’s fist.

 

“Hello,” Matt murmured, apparently to Patrick’s cock, as he focused on getting their erections lined up against each other.

 

“Fuck,” Patrick said, gasping for breath, losing his balance, toppling a little. He put a hand out to try to catch himself, but Matt didn’t even pause in his rhythm, letting Patrick half-crush him even as he expertly brought them both off.

 

Patrick felt like he lost a little bit of time to the orgasm, and when he finally caught enough of his breath to be aware of their surroundings, he was sprawled on the filthy floor of the dressing room on his back, with Matt collapsed on top of him. And they were a fucking mess.

 

“Patrick,” Matt said breathlessly, and lifted his head up to look down at him, and then suddenly, startling Patrick, he started laughing.

 

The laughter was infectious. After a moment, Patrick was laughing, too. He couldn’t help it.

 

“We’re still dressed,” Matt managed around his mirth. “We are a _mess_. What are we going to tell people? Jesus.”

 

Patrick caught his head so he could kiss him, because he couldn’t help that either. “Did you tell my penis hello?”

 

“I’m fond of it,” said Matt into Patrick’s mouth. “I was happy to see it.”

 

“You can’t possibly have missed it,” said Patrick. “You see it all the time.”

 

“I love you,” Matt said, and kissed him and kissed him. “I love you, I love you.”

 

“I love you,” Patrick said back to him.

 

“Never stop making me feel this way,” Matt said.

 

“I promise,” Patrick replied.

 

“Kiss me,” Matt said, so Patrick did, cradling Matt’s head and arching up to kiss him thoroughly, and when he pulled back, pressing one last brief kiss to the corner of Matt’s mouth, Matt’s eyes were closed and he said, “I can’t believe I ever let other people kiss me. I don’t know what I was ever thinking.”

 

“God,” Patrick said, and kissed him again. “You’re so fucking high right now, you’d say anything.”

 

“Mmm,” said Matt, not opening his eyes. The corner of his mouth tipped upward into the sort of smile Patrick had only ever seen from him after sex, lazily post-coital. “That was like the old days, when we used to barely make it off-stage.”

 

“I was feeling nostalgic,” said Patrick, carding his fingers through Matt’s destroyed hair.

 

“Good nostalgia,” Matt said, and leaned down to lick a stripe up Patrick’s neck. “Fucking good nostalgia.” Matt put his head on Patrick and snuggled in.

 

“Don’t even think about going to sleep,” Patrick said, without any heat at all behind the statement, and he swept his hand down Matt’s back, so he wasn’t exactly helping the situation. “I’ve got kids we’ve got to get home.”

 

Matt yawned. “You’re covered in come. You’re going to have to let someone else take care of your kids.”

 

“Fuck,” said Patrick, looking up at the ceiling, the full impact of their recent life choices suddenly occurring to him. “How are we getting out of here?”

 

“You probably should have thought of that before you shoved me up against the wall,” remarked Matt.

 

“ _You_ probably should have thought of that before you sat next to me for _Luck_ ,” retorted Patrick.

 

Matt lifted his head up and smiled down at him. “Did you like that?”

 

“ _Obviously_ ,” said Patrick.

 

“Hmm,” said Matt thoughtfully. “I’ll do that more often, then.” He leaned down to kiss Patrick.

 

And there was a knock on the door.

 

“Mattrick,” came Anna’s voice. “I’ve got clothes for you, and I bet you really want clothes right about now.”

 

“Up,” Patrick said to Matt, nudging him off him, and then he stood up and poked his head around the door. “You’re a lifesaver—”

 

“Don’t talk,” Anna said, wrinkling her nose and shoving clothing at him. “We are way too old for this. In case you were wondering.”

 

“A.J.!” exclaimed Matt, deciding to hang off of Patrick’s shoulder so he could swing into view of the door. “It’s like the old days! It’s _nostalgia_.”

 

“It was gross for the rest of us in the old days, too,” said Anna, but she smiled at him, because happy Matt was always Anna’s weakness, and Patrick knew that, even if he wasn’t sure either Matt or Anna knew that.

 

“It was,” Patrick agreed gravely. “Sorry. We’ll change. And, I don’t know, embarrass the kids to death—”

 

“I sent the kids home with Rachel and Carmen,” Anna interrupted. “Kylie is absolutely appalled but Miranda and Hailey just kind of shrugged.”

 

“That sounds right,” said Matt.

 

“I don’t approve of anything about this,” said Anna, “it’s all disgusting, and we’re not going to talk about during the documentary interview tomorrow.”

 

“Not at all,” agreed Patrick.

 

“Go back to your hotel room and knock yourselves out,” said Anna, and walked away.

 

“She’s the best,” Matt said happily, taking his clothes as Patrick closed the door.

 

“You have a good best friend,” Patrick replied.

 

“Is she my best friend?” asked Matt, sounding genuinely curious.

 

“She’s always been your best friend.”

 

“Hmm,” said Matt thoughtfully.

 

Patrick tipped his head at him, and thought maybe Rachel was right after all and Matt really _was_ an enigma, since he could keep surprising Patrick so much. “Did you not know that?”

 

“I don’t think I really have friends,” said Matt, exchanging his ruined suit pants for the jeans he’d been wearing earlier.

 

“What?” Patrick drew his eyebrows together. “Of course you have friends.”

 

“I’m not upset about that,” Matt said cheerfully, because he was still riding his performance high. “Get dressed.”

 

Patrick automatically started getting rid of his jeans in favor of the fresh pair, saying, “Anna’s clearly your friend. You were friends with Anna before you ever met me.”

 

“Yeah, and I didn’t tell her about you.”

 

“What are you talking about? Anna knew about us.”

 

“Anna knew about us months after there was an us. I didn’t tell her when it happened.”

 

Patrick stared at him, halfway through switching his shirts. “You didn’t?”

 

Matt shook his head.

 

“Why not?”

 

“It was embarrassing.”

 

“Why was it embarrassing?” Patrick was perplexed.

 

“You changed my life in the space of an evening,” Matt said. “I would have done anything you asked. I’d known you for a few hours, and I would have… I would have done _anything_. It was embarrassing, to say that out loud, to know how ridiculous it sounded.”

 

“You’re the one who changed _my_ life,” Patrick pointed out, still confused by this revisionist history.

 

“How can you possibly think it didn’t go both ways?” Matt asked. “Like Swan wasn’t going to be a very different band before you showed up and I shifted gears to suddenly emphasize the piano part in every song.”

 

“But you’re a piano player,” Patrick said. “You always had a piano in your songs.”

 

“I never wrote good songs until I met you, Patrick,” said Matt matter-of-factly.

 

“That’s not true, that’s not…” Patrick trailed off, frowning, because he realized suddenly that he couldn’t really think of what any of Matt’s songs pre-him had sounded like.

 

“Uh-huh,” Matt said knowingly. “Exactly. You made us Swan. It wasn’t me. And I didn’t come clean to Anna until she pointed out that I met you and started writing fucking symphonies. Metaphorically speaking.”

 

“Matt,” Patrick started, and stopped, and thought. Then he said, “You write good songs without me. _Forever_ is a gorgeous song. I love _Forever_.”

 

“ _Forever_ is _about_ you,” Matt said.

 

“Yeah, but—”

 

“Patrick.” Matt stepped forward and pressed his fingers over Patrick’s mouth. “I’m not upset about this. This isn’t something you have to deny. This is the simple truth. I write for you, or with you, or I don’t write at all. I haven’t written in years. It’s not like that for you, and I’m not offended. You’ve always been the more talented of the two of us. You didn’t _want_ my career. That’s the only reason you’re not the one with the solo hits and the reality show gig. You didn’t want to be lead. Remember? But you could have been. Because you think I’m incredible, and I’m here to tell you that you’d be better at all of it than I am, if it was what you’d wanted.”

 

Patrick shook his head dazedly. “I don’t think that’s true.”

 

Matt smiled at him. “Trick. Darling. Love of my life.” He laid his hand against Patrick’s cheek. “No one knows you less well than you know yourself.”

 

And that, Patrick thought, might be a truth he was willing to concede.

 

***

 

_Memphis_

 

“Keep Chicago open,” Matt said to him, as they walked to Anna’s dressing room together for documentary recording.

 

“What?” said Patrick. “What does that mean?”

 

“It means to keep it open,” said Matt, with a shrug.

 

“Keep it open for what?”

 

“The surprise.”

 

“I thought you were writing me a song for the surprise.”

 

“The surprise is multi-faceted,” said Matt.

 

“What exactly do you think I might plan to do in Chicago that wouldn’t involve you?” asked Patrick after a second.

 

“I don’t know,” said Matt. “You’re unpredictable. I turn my head for a second, you run off and get married.”

 

And the thing was…it was a joke. Not even a fake joke. It was a _real joke_. There was a light teasingness to Matt’s tone that made Patrick want to press him up against a wall and kiss him. He sent Patrick a curling, teasing, Matt-smile that made that desire on Patrick’s part even worse.

 

Patrick smiled back, as a substitute for kissing him. “I’m not going to run off and get married in Chicago.”

 

“Good,” said Matt. “Because I have plans for you.”

 

“What kind of plans?”

 

Matt gave him a fond look. “Patrick.”

 

“Is this a surprise? Does this have to do with the secret song?”

 

“You’re _so_ bad at being surprised. I don’t remember you being this difficult to surprise before.”

 

Patrick frowned, thinking. “I can’t remember, either. I mean…I seem to remember you constantly surprising me then. But I didn’t know you very well.”

 

“You knew me better than anyone,” said Matt, and knocked on the door to Anna’s dressing room.

 

“Come in!” Anna called, before Patrick could respond to Matt’s statement. “You’re early,” she said distractedly, standing with one of her cameraman and fussing with the camera.

 

“That doesn’t seem very like me,” Matt remarked, glancing at his watch.

 

“Shh,” Anna said. “I’m concentrating. Sit and be quiet.”

 

Matt shrugged and sat.

 

Patrick followed suit.

 

Anna’s assistant came over, smiling, and set them up with their mics.

 

“How do we look?” Matt asked, turning on his Matt Usher charm. “Will we do?”

 

Anna’s assistant blushed and mumbled something about them looking fine before fleeing.

 

“You do that just to be a showoff,” Patrick said.

 

“I don’t, actually. It just _happens_. Hey. You know what I’ve been meaning to ask you?”

 

“Hmm?” said Patrick, trying to get the mic to lay flat against his collar.

 

“When we did the _People_ interview.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“She asked us why we’re not playing any new stuff at the concerts.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Why _aren’t_ we playing any new stuff?”

 

Patrick looked at him in surprise. “None of it is ready. Do you think it’s ready?”

 

“I think it’s close enough,” said Matt. “People know we’re writing. People would eat it up. We could try it out.”

 

“Anna and David would have to learn new songs,” Patrick pointed out.

 

“We’re capable of doing that,” Anna said, apparently satisfied with the camera and coming over to take her seat opposite them.

 

“At least think about it,” Matt said. “You were so quick to say none of it was ready, in the interview, and I don’t know, I’m thinking some of it is in good shape.”

 

Patrick looked at Matt, and thought how performing the stuff they were writing seemed like another inexorable step, and Patrick wasn’t sure it was a step he wanted to take. He wanted a future with Matt, yes, he was clear on that, but did he want a future writing and recording more albums? They were always going to write songs together, it was their default state of being, their foreplay, their romance, their shared love language. But did he want a new album, that sense of starting the whole thing over again?

 

“Patrick,” Anna said, and Patrick had the impression it wasn’t the first time she’d said it. “Ready?”

 

Matt was giving him a curious look.

 

Patrick straightened and said, “Yes. I’m ready. What’s our topic?”

 

“Well,” said Anna. “We know how you and Matt met. So how did Swan get to be Swan?”

 

“I wore him down,” said Matt immediately.

 

“Oh, I see how it is,” Anna teased. “You didn’t want to join our band?”

 

“I didn’t want to join _any_ band,” Patrick said. “Look, you meet this guy, and he says, ‘I’ve got this band, we’re going to be famous.’ What’s the natural reaction to that?”

 

“I don’t know what the _natural_ reaction to that is, but I’m not going to argue with _your_ reaction,” said Matt innocently.

 

Patrick gave him a look and then said to Anna, “I wasn’t going to be in a band. That wasn’t the future I saw for myself. It was all Matt had ever seen for himself, so he thought this should have been an easy decision. He didn’t get why I was uncertain about it.”

 

“So you were writing lots of music together, I assume,” said Anna.

 

“ _Tons_ of music,” Matt said. “God, in that first week alone, I think we wrote five or six fully formed songs.”

 

“We wrote _Lose My Head_ ,” said Patrick, remembering how they’d written it, tucked up in bed together, lazily blissfully post-orgasmic, trading lines back and forth between them like kisses, singing snatches of phrases to each other.

 

“You wrote _Lose My Head_ in the first week of knowing each other?” Anna said, sounding surprised.

 

“We wrote _Luck_ in the first month,” Matt said. “We didn’t waste time. Honestly, for every song we put on an album, we probably have dozens we did nothing with.”

 

“Because they weren’t good enough,” Patrick said. “We decided they weren’t good enough. We always put the best ones on the albums.”

 

“Right. But I’m just saying that we were always writing in those days.”

 

“We’re always writing _now_ ,” said Patrick.

 

“You have four children, Patrick,” Matt said, sounding amused. “We do other things, too.”

 

“Okay, well, yes, nothing’s like being in college with nothing on your agenda and you can spend the whole day in bed,” Patrick said, paused, and added, “In bed writing songs, I mean.”

 

Matt flickered a smile at him, then said, “Okay, we should get back on topic, because we are way off of it. How did I convince Patrick to join Swan? I told him we were the best band in the entire world.”

 

***

 

“We’re the best band in the entire world,” Matt said.

 

Patrick, who was trying to find a matching pair of shoes to wear to class, gave him a look. “Matt.”

 

“You think I’m exaggerating.”

 

“Yes. I do in fact think you’re exaggerating when you say that your band is the best band in the _entire world_.”

 

“I didn’t say in all of _history_ ,” said Matt. “Just _now_ , at this moment in time, in the world.”

 

“Oh, then that makes it better.” Patrick finished tying his shoes and leaned over Matt in his bed. His hair was sticking up all over and he had a notebook on his lap that he was writing lyrics in, doing it absently while trying to convince Patrick he had the best band in the entire world. Patrick kept waiting to stop being charmed by Matt. He was sure it was going to happen any day now. “You’re lovely.”

 

Matt’s forehead furrowed in confusion. “What do you even _mean_ when you say things like that?”

 

“Darling,” Patrick laughed, and kissed him.

 

“Nobody uses that word but you,” Matt mumbled into the kiss.

 

“Good. I like to be the only one to call you that, and you love it.”

 

“Whatever,” said Matt, with a blush that Patrick chased with his lips across Matt’s cheeks.

 

“I have to go to class,” Patrick said. “And I believe you about your band. And I already promised to go to your gig tonight. I am very excited about it.”

“Right, but I wanted you to _play_ in my gig tonight,” Matt reminded him.

 

“Matt. I can’t join your band. You can play the songs, I already told you.”

 

“But I don’t want to play them without _you_ ,” said Matt.

 

“Okay,” said Patrick, because he didn’t want to get into this again. He was obviously not rock star material, and he wasn’t sure why Matt couldn’t see that. He said, “I have to get to class, I’m going to be late, I will see you tonight at the show, I cannot wait to see the best band in the entire world.”

 

“Go be responsible,” Matt sighed, “it’s really sickening. I’m going to write a song about your sickening sense of responsibility.”

 

Patrick laughed. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

 

“What if I seduce you back into bed?” asked Matt.

 

“Bye, Matt,” Patrick said, and kissed the top of Matt’s head, and ducked out of his room.

 

One of his housemates, passing him in the hallway, said, “Seriously, every time you come out of your room the grin on your face is a mile wide. The sex must be awesome.”

 

“No comment,” said Patrick primly.

 

***

 

The gig required a fake ID, which Patrick had because it was necessary to have a fake ID if you wanted to see any music in this town. The bar was a tiny hole-in-the-wall place. Patrick suspected they probably didn’t even bother to wash their glasses, and it felt like generations worth of beer had been spilled on the floor. There was also a profuse amount of smoke hanging over the crowd, none of it cigarette smoke.

 

Patrick hesitated, uncertain at the edge of the crowd, and thought, _This is why I can’t be a rock star_. Nothing about this was really his scene. Patrick doubted there was going to be any soulful guitar-solo crooning, to say nothing of Chopin.

 

“Patrick!” Matt’s voice shouted, and then Matt came bounding over to him. He was more dressed up than Patrick had ever seen him, rumpled but in something approaching business casual that he made look sinfully alluring. His hair was artfully tousled and his eyes were bright and almost manic with glee and everything about him screamed _I am extremely attractive, wouldn’t you love to take me home?_ in this smug winking way, and the fact that Patrick was fairly sure Matt was going home with him (as Matt hadn’t left in days) didn’t mean that Patrick didn’t still have a twinge of _Fuck, why are there so many people around us right now?_ “You came!”

 

“I said I would come,” Patrick said.

 

“I know, but…” Matt shrugged.

 

“You have trust issues,” Patrick said, and he meant it to be teasing, but Matt twitched a little, and Patrick felt terrible about hitting a sore spot. Matt had _run away_ from something clearly terrible, of course Matt had trust issues. “Sorr—”

 

Matt shook his head briskly and said, “Come to the front, you can meet the mushers.”

 

“I can meet the what?” said Patrick, following as Matt shoved his way to the front. There were a couple of murmurs of recognition from some people in the crowd, and Patrick wondered how often Matt played this bar. Certainly Matt looked very memorable in his current guise.

 

And then they reached a group of mainly females, right at the edge of the little stage, who saw Matt and erupted into high-pitched squeals and covered him in hugs of greeting.

 

  1. Usher, Patrick thought abruptly. _Mushers_.



 

Matt managed to extricate himself and said, “Everyone, this is Patrick.”

 

“Hi, Patrick,” one said.

 

“Are you a musher?” said another.

 

“He is the _biggest_ musher,” said Matt.

 

“I am definitely not,” Patrick said.

 

Matt grinned at him, then turned back to his fans. “Be nice to him, this is his first Swan concert.”

 

“You are in for such a treat,” one of the mushers said to him, and then held out her hand. “I’m Lilah.”

 

“Oh,” Patrick said, and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you. So you just…follow Matt around?”

 

Lilah grinned. “He plays here a lot. He’s really good. Have you ever heard him play?”

 

“I, uh…” Patrick thought of waking up in the morning to Matt at his piano, Matt grinning over the top of it and suddenly playing a snatch of painfully gorgeous melody at him. “I’ve heard him play but not like this.”

 

“He lives for it. He’s excellent. The band is good, but the band is only as good as its frontman, you know? I’ve thought about this a lot.” Lilah tapped her temple.

 

“And Matt’s a good frontman?”

 

“Matt’s an _incredible_ frontman.” Lilah frowned thoughtfully. “He just needs something.”

 

Patrick was fascinated. “Like what?”

 

“A foil? I don’t know. He’s _so_ in his element up there—you’ll see—that it’s almost _too_ comfortable. A good rock performance needs a little bit of tension to it.” Lilah grinned. “Sexual tension, preferably, and he doesn’t have any with the drummer or the sax player. He just drips sex appeal but unfortunately it just drips all over us.”

 

“And that’s a bad thing?” Patrick guessed.

 

“Let me tell you something, Patrick,” Lilah said very seriously. Patrick had the impression that Lilah was very old and wise in the ways of following random college bands around. “You need someone to be jealous of. Someone whose shoes you want to be in. In a good way. It’s tricky. But that’s what Swan needs, and then they’d be unstoppable.”

 

Patrick was considering this when there was a sudden clatter of drums from a purple-haired drummer, and a saxophone blast, and the mushers cheered loudly as Matt swaggered his way onto the stage, guitar around his neck and sunglasses on, and he grinned as he got to the microphone, and then he started singing.

 

Patrick knew this song, he realized with a start. Matt had sung it to him at one point in their acquaintance, but he’d sung it as a ballad. Now the drums were giving it a driving beat, and Matt’s guitar kept tweaking up tension underneath what he was singing, and the saxophone was playing an answering line that added a layer Patrick hadn’t expected, and the song had been good when Matt had been crooning it at Patrick’s piano but it was better now. All of the songs the band played were like that, and Matt was electric at the front of the stage, and Patrick felt lust-stunned by him, the way he crooned some lines, licking his voice around the words with a pleasure so obviously frank that Patrick almost shuddered with it, to the way he shouted others, his voice losing notes but even that transformation from melodic to not was perfect for the occasion.

 

They performed five songs, a couple of which Patrick did not know, but every one of which Matt was magnetic on. Patrick thought it was impossible to take your eyes off of him.

 

“We have been Swan,” he said at the end to his final applause. “He’s David, she’s Anna, I’m Matt, and you have all been exquisite.” He stepped away from the microphone to bow deeply, and then, when he stood up, he pushed his sunglasses up into his hair and winked right at Patrick.

 

Patrick closed his mouth, suddenly worried he might be drooling.

 

A non-Lilah musher said, “Oh my god, he took his sunglasses off _on stage_ for you,” in a tone of awe.

 

Lilah gave Patrick a knowing smirk and said, “See? What did I tell you? He gets sex all over you, doesn’t he?”

 

Matt came bounding out and up to him, waving a couple of noncommittal hands at mushers who came over to him, eyes only for Patrick, and Patrick thought, _Every single person here wants him, and you’re the only one he cares about_.

 

“What did you think?” Matt asked. He was bouncing a bit in front of Patrick, energy radiating outward like a forcefield. Patrick felt almost dizzy with him. “Did you like it? Do you want to come meet—”

 

“Come with me,” Patrick said suddenly, and grabbed Matt’s hand and tugged him out of the crowd.

 

“Wait,” Matt said, stumbling a little in Patrick’s wake, as they shoved through the crowd. People were calling to Matt, telling him he’d had a good show. “Where are we—Patrick.” Matt was laughing now. “What are you—”

 

Patrick got them outside, where the air was so suddenly fresh it almost hurt to breathe, and pushed Matt up against the side of the building and kissed him until Matt was gasping, his hands tight in Patrick’s hair.

 

“Fuck,” he said when Patrick pulled back. “Why did you stop? Keep doing that.”

 

“We are going home,” Patrick said into Matt’s panting open mouth.

 

“Fuck yeah, we are,” Matt agreed.

 

***

 

“Matt,” Patrick said into Matt’s damp shoulder blade.

 

Matt, sprawled on his stomach, arms around a pillow, arms closed, smiling widely, murmured, “Hmm?”

 

“Who arranged those songs tonight? For the performance?”

 

Matt yawned and answered, “Me.”

 

Patrick breathed out against Matt’s skin. “You’re good at that.”

 

“Uh-huh. I’ve been telling you.” Matt snuggled harder into the bed.

 

“You’re good at being a _rock star_ ,” said Patrick, a little amazed. He felt like Matt was a kaleidoscope that was completely different depending on how he held him, by turns shy and staggeringly confident, sweet and brash, sly and demanding.

 

“So’re you,” Matt said.

 

“Matt,” Patrick said. “You’re not listening to me. You were _amazing_.”

 

Matt opened his eyes and looked at him. “Yes. I’m good at it. I told you that. We’re going to be a big hit.”

 

Patrick shook his head a little bit. “You could say ‘thank you.’”

 

Matt grinned. “Thank you. I _am_ glad that you liked it. But yes. I know what I’m talking about.”

 

“I don’t think you can possibly understand how good you are, if you’re still talking about having _me_ up there with you. There’s no way I can hold my own on a stage with you.”

 

“Patrick, you got up at that open-mic night and I couldn’t look away from you. You have no idea what your stage presence is. Come and meet my band. Do a song with us. You might like it.” Matt closed his eyes again. “Besides, Lilah says I need someone to drip my sex appeal all over, and you’d be good for that.”

 

“Lilah needs to stop saying that,” said Patrick seriously, “it’s not alluring.”

 

Matt laughed.

 

***

 

“The set was good,” Patrick said blandly to Anna’s cameras.

 

Matt twitched a smile but didn’t add anything to the story.

 

***

 

_Chicago_

 

Patrick was playing the opening to _Lose My Head_ , which was getting a reaction from the crowd, because _Lose My Head_ was popular. David was playing his seductive saxophone line. And Matt should have been waiting for his intro. Except that what Matt did was come and stand at the edge of Patrick’s piano and look down at him, an inscrutable little smile playing on his lips.

 

Patrick wasn’t sure what to do. They didn’t usually banter while they were playing but Matt looked like he was expecting something. “Hello,” he said into the microphone.

 

Matt grinned at him and responded, “Hi.”

 

The crowd went wild because they’d spoken to each other.

 

“What can I do for you?” Patrick asked politely.

 

“Keep playing. I’m trying something. Anna, can you cut out the drums, please?” Matt said without taking his eyes off of Patrick. “Let’s strip this song down.”

 

Patrick lifted his eyebrows, because all of this was wildly unusual, but the crowd was _eating it up_.

 

“Get your phones out, kids,” Matt told them. “This is a one of a kind rendition about to happen.” And then, as Patrick kept playing and David kept picking up his saxophone line, Matt actually took his guitar off, put it on its stand, and sat up on Patrick’s piano.

 

The applause was so immediate and deafening that Patrick couldn’t hear anything over it, and then suddenly Matt’s voice broke in with the opening line. “There’s a certain sort of promise, I can see the gleam in your eye.” Matt took his sunglasses off, and the crowd went _even louder_. Patrick was feeling stunned, because Matt had never done anything like this before. “There’s a current in between us, I couldn’t look away if I tried.”

 

This was the cue for David’s saxophone line. Patrick could hear Matt’s in-drawn breath to get to the pre-chorus. “Oh,” he breathed, which wasn’t how he usually sang that line, and Patrick felt like his ears were ringing, “it’s you, it’s you, it’s you, it’s you.” He kept his voice breathy, the phrases snatches of moans in between pants, and Patrick felt like his fingers were tangling over each other on the keys, this was basically obscene, and the crowd was _ecstatic_. Matt’s hand reached out behind him, bracing himself up, reaching toward Patrick, and Patrick watched its progress over the lacquered black of his piano. “The things you do to me, the way you feel to me, you’ve ruined me, it’s true.”

 

They had reached the refrain, and with Anna’s drums and Matt’s guitar gone, Patrick’s piano was the only instrument keeping this sounding vaguely like music, not that it mattered, because suddenly Matt lowered himself fully onto his back, laying full-out on the piano, and the crowd went so hysterical that Patrick only kept playing automatically. Matt sang, letting his voice belt it out, “I want to shatter you into pieces and put you back together in my bed, and it goes both ways, darling, oh, you make me…” Matt trailed off, and the crowd sang it for him, shouting from the audience.

 

Matt arched his back on the piano so he could tip his head back to look at Patrick. And then he winked at him.

 

***

 

Patrick was too dazed to even _say_ anything, until they were back in their hotel suite. Which was…kid-less.

 

“Wait,” Patrick said. “Where is everyone?” There was a small moment of panic, because the kids had been there when they’d left that night.

 

“Taken care of,” Matt said loftily, and he was shedding clothes in the middle of the suite.

 

“What?” Patrick asked blankly. He felt hopelessly off-balance by the concert they’d just had.

 

Matt stepped out of his pants and said, “I enlisted everyone to help with babysitters. We’re having a date night. And a date day.”

 

“What?” Patrick asked, less blank and more honestly bewildered.

 

“Hey. Trick. Keep up,” said Matt, smiling at him. “You wanted to spend a day in bed. You’ve got it. At least until the early afternoon. Then I have a surprise before sound check.”

 

Patrick stared at Matt. He was completely naked by now, and Patrick hadn’t taken a single article of clothing off. He said dazedly, “You planned all of this.”

 

Matt spread his hands in a _ta-da!_ motion. “Surprise!”

 

“That’s what the stunt was on the piano tonight,” Patrick realized.

 

Matt smirked at him, his lips in a smug Matt-Usher smile that Patrick wanted to wipe off his face.

 

Matt blinked at him, heavy-lidded, come-hither stare firmly in place, aware what Patrick’s reaction to his smirk usually was. “Hey,” he said, and his voice was low and rough and not just because he’d been singing for two straight hours. “Come fuck me so hard I see stars and let me enjoy the luxury of being as loud as I want.”

 

Patrick didn’t have to be asked twice.

 

***

 

Patrick was deeply, astonishingly, charmingly sound asleep. Matt watched him with a soppy, adoring look on his face that he never bothered to hide, and contemplated waking him up, and then decided no, this was Patrick’s day, he was going to let him catch up on sleep to his heart’s content.

 

Matt could hear Patrick’s phone ringing dully, from the main room of the suite where they’d abandoned their clothes the night before, and slid out of bed to get it, worried that it might be something with the kids. He hunted through the mess on the floor, frowning at it and thinking he should probably pick it up all their clothes, and found Patrick’s jeans and pulled his phone out of its pocket.

 

It was blinking _Ashley_.

 

Matt thought two things, one right after the other: (1) He could not possibly answer the phone on Ashley. (2) There was no way in hell he was letting Ashley ruin their day.

 

Matt frowned and let the call ring out to Patrick’s voicemail. Then, because he was up anyway, he called to check on the kids. Mrs. Honeycutt said the kids were all angelic and that they should enjoy their day. So Matt called for room service and pulled clothes on and cleaned up a bit while he waited for it to arrive. When it came he tipped the waiter with a flash of a smile and wheeled the tray into the bedroom. Then he fixed himself hot water with lemon and honey, snagged the plate of bacon, and took himself back to bed with his phone.

 

Footage of him writhing on Patrick’s piano was all over the internet, and it was _fantastic_. Matt grinned at it, pleased. It was a hot tableau, and it was very them, and it made Matt feel sly, like he’d pushed the envelope a little bit on the script for his and Patrick’s relationship. He shouldn’t be doing this, he knew. He should be having an honest conversation with Patrick about his desire to go public. His therapist was going to yell at him a lot when she found out what he was doing. But it was a harmless thing, a little thing to make him feel better while he patiently waited Patrick out, and the look on Patrick’s face had been worth it.

 

The internet had noticed, too.

 

_Look at the way Patrick is looking at him!!!_

 

_I swear to God, Matt totally winks at him after the refrain. WINKS AT HIM._

 

Matt smiled.

 

“Mmm,” said Patrick next to him, and curled sleepily closer to him, settling his head against Matt’s ribs. “You’re looking smug. What have you done now?”

 

“I’m Matt Usher,” Matt told him, putting the phone aside. “Do I need any other reason?”

 

Patrick snorted out a laugh. “Christ, why do I like you?”

 

“You _love_ me,” said Matt, and slid down to line their faces up, just so he could kiss Patrick’s nose. “Good morning.”

 

Patrick’s eyes weren’t open. He just smiled and said, “You didn’t have to do this. But this is glorious.”

 

“Yeah,” Matt said, loving him so much he _hurt_ with it. “Do you want breakfast?”

 

“I don’t want to get out of this bed,” said Patrick.

 

“It’s here in the room. I can get out of bed for you.”

 

Patrick’s arm came up around Matt’s chest, a weight keeping him place. “I don’t _you_ to get out of this bed.”

 

Matt smiled and carded his fingers through Patrick’s tousled hair. “Okay. We’ll stay in bed.”

 

***

 

“You had something else planned,” Patrick said suddenly. They’d managed to get out of bed and were eating a very cold breakfast now.

 

Matt was frowning at how cold the hot water had grown, because he’d been hoping for a bit more. He said distractedly, “Yeah, it doesn’t matter, though.”

 

“No, no. You’ve gone to a lot of trouble. This has been a whole _thing_ ,” said Patrick. “You’re being extravagant for me.”

 

“I like it,” said Matt. “It doesn’t bother me. Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Let’s do your thing you have planned,” Patrick said, and leaned over and kissed Matt. “What should I wear?”

 

“Anything,” Matt said. “There’s no dress code.”

 

“Okay. I’ll check on the kids and then I’ll shower.”

 

“I checked on the kids for you already,” Matt said. “When I got up. I mean, you can still do it if you want, but—”

 

“You checked on the kids,” Patrick said, his mouth tipped into a smile.

 

_And ignored a call from your ex-wife_ , thought Matt, and didn’t say. “Yeah. I mean, I told Mrs. Honeycutt I would, so.”

 

“When’s this thing you have planned?” Patrick asked. “Can I get you off again and still have time to get to it?”

 

“Oh,” Matt said negligently. “We should probably give it a try.”

 

***

 

The car took them downtown, to a high-rise near the lake, and they were greeted with expectation and ushered onto an elevator. Patrick looked at Matt curiously, but Matt wasn’t giving anything away. He looked pleased with himself, though. He’d gone casual for the day, and hadn’t even bothered to comb his hair, or to shave, and naturally on Matt it looked delicious.

 

Matt Usher. Who loved him extravagantly. Patrick felt almost starstruck, like a fan meeting him on the street.

 

The elevator opened onto a large room crowded with tables. A restaurant, clearly. Only it was completely empty, save for enormous bouquets of white flowers everywhere.

 

Patrick blinked.

 

Someone came up to them and said, “Hello. Welcome. Right this way,” and led them to a table right by the window, with a breathtaking view that Patrick would definitely have noticed had he had eyes for anything so mundane as a view, when he had Matt.

 

“Champagne, please,” Matt said to the waiter. “The most expensive bottle you have. And we’ll do the tasting menu.” Matt waited until they were alone before saying, “Is it okay I ordered for you?”

 

Like Patrick could have read a menu at the moment. “Matt. What _is_ this?”

 

“Christ,” Matt said. “I have been a godawful boyfriend to you. This is a date.”

 

Patrick looked around the empty restaurant, at the flowers spilling all over the place. “I don’t know what you think a ‘date’ is,” he said slowly, “but…”

 

“Patrick,” Matt said, and Patrick looked at him. “We never did this. Not once. We never _went on a date_. Like, what the fuck. You, who I knew wanted to be loved like this, I knew it so well because I knew _you_ so well, and I never bothered to get my act together to take you on a single fucking date. So here you go. This is twenty years of me being an idiot about dates.”

 

Patrick didn’t know what to say. He said helplessly, “Matt.”

 

“Everyone’s been paid off,” Matt said. “Handsomely. Nothing’s going in the press. This is for us. We have the run of the place. Let me woo you.”

 

Patrick’s heart wasn’t working properly. It didn’t seem to want to beat the right way. Patrick couldn’t have given less of a fuck. He managed, “It’s so unnecessary. I’m so much yours. I’m so already wooed.”

 

Matt lifted one shoulder in a shrug and smiled at him. “So let me do it for the fun of it.”

 

And Patrick had nothing to say to that.

 

***

 

The waiter came out with the champagne and poured it for them, followed immediately by the first course, which he explained using words Matt had never heard before.

 

“Where are we?” Patrick asked once the waiter had departed.

 

“I don’t know. It came highly recommended.” Matt studied the food.

 

“By who?”

 

“Lilah. She used to live in Chicago.”

 

“You asked Lilah where you should take me on a date?” Patrick asked, amused.

 

“I did,” Matt affirmed, and took a bite, then made a surprised sound. “This is better than I expected.”

 

Patrick said, “What did you say to Lilah?”

 

Matt said, “I said, ‘Where can I take Patrick that’ll make him want to get in my pants later?’”

 

Patrick laughed. “Yes. Because your pants have been so well-fastened lately.”

 

Matt grinned across at him. “Do you want to play footsie with me under the table?”

 

“No, I want to be a respectable person out on a date.”

 

“Wow, dates are boring,” said Matt, and Patrick laughed at him again.

 

The waiter came to clear away the first course and deliver the second. Matt looked across at Patrick, who looked more relaxed than Matt had seen him in a while. He was leaned back in his seat listening to the description of the second dish, his champagne flute idly dangling in his hand, and he looked so impossibly attractive that Matt didn’t understand how this was his _life_. The same way he’d never understood it. Patrick had been a thunderclap that had woken Matt up, and Matt had just been chasing him down ever since.

 

“I was thinking of Lilah the other day,” Patrick remarked when the waiter had left.

 

Matt quirked a knowing smile at his second course. “You were thinking of mushers.”

 

“Okay, I was thinking of mushers,” Patrick laughed. “Christ, aren’t you happy they got over that nickname?”

 

“Now they call themselves ‘Swandom’ and I don’t know if that’s better.”

 

“Oh, my God, Matt, it is _definitely_ better,” said Patrick.

 

Matt made a noncommittal sound.

 

Patrick said, “I’m glad you had her the whole time. Straight through. I’m glad Lilah was there for you. She was there before me and she was there after me, too, and I’m glad.”

 

“There was a time,” Matt said slowly, “when Lilah would have said that she loved me better than you.”

 

“Lilah wouldn’t have been wrong,” said Patrick.

 

“Patrick,” said Matt. “I don’t want to drag our date down in this, but…she’s wrong. You love me well. You told me I had a good way of loving, and so do you. The best. I just want you to know that. And I told Lilah I wanted to take you out and she said it was such a good idea, that we should try to steal some kind of chance to be _normal_ , because we never had been.”

 

“You always thought normality was overrated,” Patrick remarked.

 

“I was wrong,” Matt said. “We should have had a balance.”

 

Patrick looked across at him, and Matt had no idea what the second course was, it seemed thoroughly unimportant.

 

***

 

“Okay,” Patrick said over the third course, “so what do you think people talk about on dates?”

 

Matt laughed. “I know for a fact you went on more dates than I ever did, so you tell me.”

 

“You didn’t go on dates while we were apart?” Patrick asked.

 

Matt snorted. “I picked up people in clubs while we were apart.”

 

“Matt,” Patrick said.

 

“What? I did.” Matt shrugged. “I wasn’t really very interested in replacing you. It wasn’t a thing I wanted. My therapist has already berated me thoroughly for it. And, anyway, it led to all of this, so let’s applaud my life choices.”

 

“We’ve got fifteen years to catch up on,” Patrick mused, and rested his chin on his fist. “Tell me your favorite TV show of the past fifteen years.”

 

Matt considered, then said, “Mine.”

 

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Oh, God,” he said.

 

“It’s true!” Matt protested, grinning. “Let’s talk music.”

 

“Okay,” Patrick agreed. “Favorite song of the past fifteen years.”

 

“ _Call Me Maybe_ ,” answered Matt.

 

“ _Matt_ ,” said Patrick, laughing.

 

“Do not even knock Carly Rae Jepsen,” said Matt, grinning across at him. Patrick looked so delighted, and he was so pleased. “This is such a great date. We’re doing so well.”

 

Patrick said, “It is much better than it would have been when we first met.”

 

“What would we have done, do you think?” Matt asked.

 

“Coffee, probably,” said Patrick. “I would have asked you out for coffee.”

 

“No, you wouldn’t have,” said Matt. “ _I_ would have asked _you_ out for coffee.”

 

“But you didn’t,” Patrick pointed out. “You came over and talked to me about Voltaire. And then you asked me to write a song with you.”

 

“Look,” said Matt, “that was the sexiest date of your entire life.”

 

“It was,” Patrick agreed seriously. “I’m not even disputing that.”

 

Matt smiled across at him, fond and pleased.

 

***

 

Matt was telling a story about filming the reality show, and it was fascinating. He hadn’t done much talking about the reality show, and Patrick was a little amazed to find them on that conversational topic.

 

“I mean,” Matt said, gesturing with the fork in his hand, “I really wanted to help the kid but at the same time, there he is, refusing to shower for superstitious reasons. It was not an ideal situation. The other kids on my team were begging me to do something about it. Like I am at all equipped to defuse that situation!”

 

“What did you do?” Patrick asked, hanging on every word.

 

“I asked the producers if we could get a cologne company to sponsor us,” said Matt.

 

Patrick laughed. “You did what?”

 

“I mean, I couldn’t force the kid to take a shower. I was begging, cajoling, pleading – you know I’m not good at that.”

 

Patrick smiled into his champagne glass. “It isn’t one of your greater talents, no.”

 

“I thought the cologne would be a temporary solution.”

 

“Did it work?”

 

“Well, it turned out he was voted out the next week, so I didn’t have to worry about it past that. I feel like my team lost confidence in me, though. I’d handle it differently next time.”

 

“How you would handle it next time?”

 

“I’d tell him to go take a fucking shower and not work with him until it was done. But I didn’t want to come across as the mean judge, you know? I was very conscious of…wanting people to like me.”

 

Matt had always been conscious of that, so Patrick could totally understand how much that would have been magnified on the television show. “How did you even come to do the show?”

 

“They offered a lot of money,” Matt said.

 

“Were you hurting for money?” Patrick asked, because they’d made a lot of it at one point in time but maybe Matt had been irresponsible.

 

“No.” Matt sighed and fiddled with his champagne flute. “I was bored. I was just…bored. I wasn’t writing, there wasn’t any music, I was just…listless. I mean, I had been for a while, but it was finally _bothering_ me. I don’t know. I told Lilah to find me something to do. She was like, ‘You could write an album,’ and I said, ‘No, no, something _else_.’ And that’s what she came up with.”

 

Patrick looked at him for a moment, then said lightly, “You could have gotten a pet.”

 

Matt laughed. “I wasn’t confident I’d keep a living thing alive. The show was much better. And it was good. I had a good time.”

 

“You seem to have made friends,” Patrick remarked, thinking back to the flowers his fellow judges had sent. 

 

“Huh,” said Matt, looking reflective as he gazed out the window at the view. “I think I did.” He seemed surprised by it himself.

 

“I don’t understand why you’ve always thought you don’t have friends,” Patrick said softly. “Sometimes I think it’s dangerous to be as charming as you are, that you really think you’re just perpetually tricking all of us. That song was mean, and I should never have written it, and I’m sorry it got into your head that much.”

 

Matt shook his head a little and said, “It didn’t… I mean, it wasn’t…” He met Patrick’s eyes and admitted, “I just never thought that about _you_. I didn’t think I was tricking _you_. I thought you actually liked me. I thought you actually loved me.”

 

“Both were true, Matt. Both have always been true.”

 

“Yeah,” Matt said tightly. “I know.” He sipped his champagne.

 

Patrick, after a beat, cleared his throat and tried to steer the conversation back to something a little lighter. “Are you doing another season of the show?”

 

“I don’t know,” Matt replied. “They want me to. Lilah’s been trying to work out scheduling with them. I’m…not sure about it.” Matt gave Patrick a look, and Patrick saw suddenly that he was thinking about what his future looked like.

 

Patrick said, “We should talk about it,” because they should, they should talk about how things could work, how they’d mesh together.

 

“Yeah,” Matt said.

 

Patrick paused, then said, “I’m not sure where to start. I mean, we’ll find a way to make it work.”

 

“Yeah,” Matt agreed.

 

Patrick tipped his head at him and smiled. “This is quite the talk we’re having.”

 

Matt laughed, looking light and joyful. “Because. Because it doesn’t really fucking matter, Trick. It doesn’t matter what I do or what you do. We’re going to make this work this time. We couldn’t move on from each other in fifteen years of no-contact, I don’t think there’s anything that’s going to work, so we might as well admit we’re all-in, right?”

 

Patrick looked across at him for a moment. He looked so _happy_. He looked the way Patrick always wanted him to be, triumphant in his date planning, smugly pleased with himself, self-assured and _happy_. He said, “Yeah. All in.”

 

Matt’s lips twitched. “We should get matching tattoos.”

 

“Not that all in,” said Patrick, because he knew he was expected to.

 

Matt laughed. “You are the _worst_ rock star.”

 

“You don’t have any tattoos, either,” Patrick pointed out. “And you’re the actual rock star of the two of us.”

 

Matt fiddled with his champagne glass. “Tattoos are commitment. You would say I’ve always been bad at that.”

 

Patrick shook his head. “I wouldn’t say that. I would say that you like to _think_ you’re bad at commitment, is what I would say.”

 

Matt considered. “Fair enough.”

 

The waiter arrived to clear their plates. Patrick wasn’t even sure what course they were on, and he couldn’t remember anything that he ate, but he still said, “Everything’s been delicious, thank you,” because he wanted to be polite.

 

The waiter inclined his head in acknowledgement and took the plates away.

 

Patrick met Matt’s amused gaze. “What?” he asked.

 

“You,” Matt said, “are so fucking easy to impress. I could have taken you to McDonald’s and you would have been delighted. You are way too easy on me.”

 

“I am,” Patrick agreed. “I always have been. But really. Yes. You could take me anywhere, and I’d be happy if you were there.”

 

“Same,” Matt said seriously. “That’s how I know not to worry about how we’re going to make things work.”

 

The waiter came over and set a mug down in front of Matt.

 

“You asked for hot water with lemon and honey with dessert,” he said smoothly.

 

“Oh,” Matt said. “Yeah. Thank you.” He looked at Patrick. “Did you want coffee?”

 

Patrick shook his head. “Just the dessert is fine.” He smiled at the waiter and waited for him to move away before looking pointedly at the hot water.

 

“You’re overreacting,” Matt said, sipping it. “I’ve always relied on this when we’re on tour.”

 

“You have gradually increased your consumption of it.”

 

“I’m older. We’re halfway through the tour. I’m fine. Do you want your gift?”

 

“This hasn’t been my gift?” said Patrick.

 

“There’s a piano over there, Trick,” Matt said, putting his mug down on the table. “Let me dazzle you.”

 

***

 

Matt sat at the piano and cracked his knuckles and played a couple of scales and a few arpeggios, just to warm himself up. He’d expected Patrick to sit next to him on the bench but instead Patrick had walked around to the side of the piano, and then he said, “Hang on, stop what you’re doing for a second.”

 

“What?” said Matt, picking his fingers up off the keys.

 

Patrick leaned over the piano, frowning, and then put the lid down, and then he grinned at Matt and clambered on top of it. “Okay,” he said, sprawling out and propping his head on his hands. “Play me my song.”

 

Patrick’s eyes were sparking with teasing good humor, and Matt’s mouth was dry with the sight of him on top of the piano.

 

“Fuck,” Matt said thickly. “That is _brutal_. I’m sorry I did that to you at the concert, I didn’t realize _how_ that looks.”

 

Patrick’s lips twitched. “I know. That’s why I’m doing it to you now.”

 

“Christ,” Matt said faintly. “My house, in L.A., has a really beautiful piano in it, and we are going to _defile_ it.”

 

Patrick laughed. “Play for me, darling.”

 

Matt cleared his throat and shook himself to focus. And then he played his introductory chord progression. And then he sang. “‘It’s a figure of speech,’ you said. ‘You can make your mind up and the bed.’ But I’ve lost the conversational thread, My desire to resist you, and my head.”

 

Matt glanced up at Patrick, who was watching him with almost wonder now, a soft smile playing around his lips.

 

Matt moved into the refrain, “I’m a thousand different nouns, I’ve never learned the art of settling down, But you’re the verb, you take me as your object, And we make it work in every single context.”

 

“Matt,” Patrick said. “Did you write me an entire song of syllepses?”

 

Matt chuckled as he watched his hands. “If you’re ready, I have more.”

 

“Please,” said Patrick.

 

So Matt sang the next verse. “You bring out my best and worst, I drive you to work and up the wall, We can take a break or a chance, You can take your time and my call,” before launching back into the refrain, and then he even had a bridge ready: “I can read a book and the room, You can spill the beans and your tea, I can shoot the breeze or for the moon, You can count your pennies and on me,” and then he finally linked it up with the words Patrick had given him originally: “You can stumble over words and feet, You can lose your temper and a glove, You can catch a cold and a train, You can fall behind, and apart, and in love.”

 

He took a deep breath and looked back up at Patrick, moving back into his final refrain, “I’m a thousand different nouns, I’ve never learned the art of settling down, But you’re the verb, you take me as your object.” Matt slowed, paused, dropped the keys, dropped most of the pretense of even singing, finishing, “And I’m yours, in every single context.”

 

Patrick stared at him for a long moment, the room around them completely, utterly silent.

 

Then he said, “Matt,” and stretched out an arm to pull Matt in for a kiss.

 

“Did you like it?” Matt asked.

 

“Yes. Yes. I loved it. No wonder you want to work new songs into the concert, when you’re writing songs like _that_.”

 

“ _We_ wrote that song,” Matt corrected him.

 

“Teach it to me,” Patrick said. “I want to play it for you.”

 

“At the show tonight?” Matt asked, a little surprised.

 

“Not tonight. We need to give everyone more warning. We need to polish it more. But eventually, someday, I want to play it. That is too beautiful a song for it to just be _mine_. I get so much of Matt Usher, I can share your music with the rest of the world.”

 

The waiter cleared his throat behind Matt, and Matt turned on the piano bench.

 

If the waiter was alarmed Patrick was on the piano, he didn’t show it. He merely said, “Would you like to have dessert now?”

 

***

 

“So,” said Patrick, in the back of the car on the way back to their hotel. “That was a delicious day.”

 

“You didn’t taste a single bite of the food,” Matt said fondly.

 

“That’s not what made it delicious.”

 

Matt smiled, and then, because he could, snuggled next to him, put his head on Patrick’s shoulder, closed his eyes and let himself sink into these last few minutes of this stolen day, when Patrick was entirely his and he was entirely Patrick’s and there was nothing else to worry about.

 

Patrick brushed a kiss into his hair and murmured, “Thank you so much for this. It’s been extravagant.”

 

Matt chuckled. “Anytime. Really. I should have done it long ago. I should have done it always.”

 

“It’s okay. Don’t feel pressured.” Patrick paused. “But it was lovely.”

 

Matt laughed full-out, then turned his head to rest his chin on Patrick’s shoulder, looking at his profile close up against him. He said, “I love you more than anything in the universe.”

 

Patrick smiled and turned to face him and said, “I know.” And then leaned forward to kiss the tip of Matt’s nose.

 

Matt smiled and leaned his head back down. “You don’t like touring the way I do. It doesn’t energize you the way it energizes me. You’ve always needed break days.”

 

“They used to involve never getting off the bus,” Patrick said nostalgically.

 

“God, I don’t miss those days.”

 

“Don’t you?” Patrick asked knowingly.

 

“Okay. Well. I don’t miss not having room service.”

 

Patrick laughed.

 

“We could have just stayed in bed today. I thought you’d really enjoy…the gesture.” Matt felt a little like an idiot calling what he’d done “a gesture,” but, well, it was.

 

Patrick said, “Oh, I enjoyed it more than I could put into words. Don’t apologize for it. I’m glad to have gotten out of bed for it. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I am looking forward to seeing the kids. This has been lovely, but I miss them.”

 

“Of course you do,” Matt said, and then sat up. “You know I’m not jealous of the kids, right? Not even a little bit. I love your kids. I didn’t want you to think that I’m… I _love_ them. I would do anything for them. I’m not jealous of the fact that they’re here, and that you love them, and that you want to spend time with them, or anything like that.”

 

Patrick settled a hand on the back of his head, warm and comforting, and said with gentle conviction, “I know you’re not. I’ve never thought you were. Matt, I’d never have taken you to bed that first night had I not thought that you were going to respect my kids’ place in my life. You have been obvious, from your first interaction with them, that you were going to love them. You may be a weakness of mine, but you would never have been able to get in so quickly otherwise.”

 

Matt, after a moment, said, “It’s all fucking confusing, you know. I don’t just love them because they’re yours. But also I love them because they’re so you.”

 

Patrick lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “That’s just parenting, Matt. I know exactly what you mean. You get used to it. And I was just thinking that Adam’s lucky, to be the one to get you all along. The girls would have benefitted from having you around the whole time. To be honest, the girls probably would have benefitted from having a me who was with you.”

 

“Only if it was a me who was good for you,” said Matt.

 

“True,” Patrick agreed reflectively.

 

Matt licked his lips and watched Patrick be reflective and thought of the way the girls had grown up. And then he said, “I did something this morning. Something kind of scheming. And I’m _sorry_. But I had this whole… I mean, I had this whole scheme. This date scheme. I wanted this to be this perfect day for us. I’d planned it so meticulously.”

 

Patrick blinked, looking wary. “Okay. Yes,” he said slowly.

 

“And this was a good scheme, right?” Matt caught up Patrick’s hands in his own. “They’re not all bad, right? This was a good one. You enjoyed yourself.”

 

“What did you do?” Patrick asked calmly.

 

“And I’ve been _so good_ about the scheming,” Matt said. “Before I say what I did, let’s just remind ourselves of that.”

 

Patrick lifted a corner of his mouth in a sardonic smile. “Matt. I love you. Tell me.”

 

“Ashley called you this morning.”

 

“You talked to Ashley?” Patrick asked in alarm.

 

“No. Of course not. I ignored the call for you. You were still sleeping and I heard your phone ringing and  I went to get it, because I thought, I don’t know, it might be something to do with the kids, and it was Ashley, and I ignored the call, and then I didn’t tell you, until now, because I didn’t want to ruin our day.”

 

Patrick’s gaze was hard, and inscrutable, and Matt hated it. He said flatly, “It could have been an emergency.”

 

“What emergency could Ashley have that would involve _you_?” Matt retorted. “All of your kids are here safe with us. If she’s got emergencies going on, then she should go and deal with them herself and not be dragging you into it. She doesn’t get to use you for steadiness whenever she has a crisis. That’s not fair.”

 

“She doesn’t do that,” Patrick snapped. “She almost never calls. If she’s calling me, there’s a reason for it. She’s not doing it to be—”

 

“The last time she called you, Trick, it was for the _super important reason_ that you and I had gone viral and hurt her feelings. And you didn’t come back from that call in the best mood, _you might recall_. So. I made a decision this morning that whatever fuckery Ashley had in store for you could wait until this afternoon. This is the first scheme I have executed in _weeks_ , and sure, it’s probably as terrible as my schemes usually are, poorly thought-through and with terrible consequences, but a thing I would appreciate from you is that I cannot be fucking perfect on the scheme front right away, and I am _trying_ , and I have _never_ schemed for anything but your happiness, _ever_.” Matt stopped talking and realized he was breathing quickly, that Patrick being upset about this was causing Matt to panic, to feel like everything was going to snowball out of his control and they’d have a terrible argument and fall into the fighting-fucking cycle he was trying so hard to avoid this time around.

 

Patrick stared at him for a long moment. And then he said under his breath, “Fuck,” and then reached out and pulled Matt in.

 

Matt _melted_ with relief at the embrace.

 

“Okay,” Patrick said softly. “I’m sorry. I don’t need you to be perfect. You know that, right? Don’t be perfect. Don’t even _change_. I’m not leaving. I love _you_.”

 

“I just don’t want you to think I’m not _listening_ ,” Matt said to Patrick’s chest.

 

“I can tell you are,” Patrick said, and kissed Matt’s head. “I’m sorry. Christ, I’m sorry. It’s okay. I get why you did what you did. I loved my special day. I loved every second of it. Thank you for it. I love your silly schemes, you know I do, I don’t like manipulation and that’s different.”

 

Matt took a deep, shuddering breath against Patrick and willed his heart to slow down, to shut off his fight-or-flight response.

 

Patrick said, “You know how you said that you’re hoping eventually we trust each other enough to believe the other one’s not going to leave?”

 

Matt nodded.

 

“Yeah, I think we’re still working on it,” Patrick remarked.

 

Matt choked out a laugh.

 

***

 

Patrick was happy to see his kids, and he could tell they were happy to see him. They rushed upon him with hugs and kisses, and Adam seemed caught between squawking his disapproval and cuddling tight against him.

 

“Hello, hello, hello,” he said, managing to catch every red head up in a kiss. “How _are_ you, I’ve missed you, what did you do all day?”

 

“It was _one day_ , Dad,” said Kylie, rolling her eyes, as if she had not just given him a tight hug in greeting.

 

“I know,” Patrick said, sitting on the couch with Adam on his lap. “It was absurd, how much I missed your lack of enthusiasm for seeing me. How were they, Mrs. Honeycutt?”

 

“Oh, angels,” Mrs. Honeycutt said dismissively. “How was _your_ day?” She gave him a look that made Patrick assess exactly how much she understood about his and Matt’s relationship. Well, he supposed that at a certain point you couldn’t exactly continue to ignore _everything_ going on under your nose, especially not when you were suddenly asked to babysit kids for a secret surprise date.

 

“We ate way more food than it was necessary to eat,” Patrick said.

 

“I don’t even know what the food _was_ ,” Matt said. He was standing by the hotel room phone, having just ordered something.

 

Patrick said, “Did you order more hot water?”

 

“I am _fine_ ,” Matt said. “Jesus.” He looked at Kylie. “You’re never going to get away with anything, you know.”

 

“I’m hoping you’re going to cover for me.”

 

“Only if you cover for me,” said Matt.

 

“Deal,” Kylie agreed immediately.

 

“No.” Patrick shook his head. “This is a terrible deal. You are a terrible co-parent.”

 

Matt and Kylie both laughed at him.

 

And Patrick thought with dread that he had to call Ashley. He completely understood why Matt had chosen not to tell him about Ashley’s call, because Patrick was hoping he could have ignored it, too. But he couldn’t. Although he did for as long as possible. Catching up with the kids and walking them through Matt’s new song and getting themselves off to soundcheck. They were their bright and charming selves for the VIPs, falling casually into their roles, as familiar as breathing.

 

At soundcheck, Anna tapped at her drums and said, “So. Are you going to make love to the piano during _Lose My Head_ every night, or was last night a one-off?”

 

Matt chuckled into the microphone. They were testing its sound level, and his chuckle echoed over the mostly empty into the venue, warm and rich and brushing goosebumps onto Patrick’s skin, because Matt’s laughter was irresistible to him.

 

“I think that’s up to Patrick,” Matt said, and cast him a look, up through his lashes. Matt didn’t wear sunglasses for soundcheck; it was one of the thrills of soundcheck. “What do you say, Trick?”

 

“I say no,” Patrick said primly. “I like to keep my piano pristine.”

 

Matt looked at the VIPs, who were all obviously filming this for later public consumption, and said, “Patrick cannot handle me up on his piano. It is too much for him. Sensory overload.”

 

“It goes both ways, darling,” Patrick said drily into his microphone, because if he was being filmed he wanted to make sure he gave as good as he got.

 

Matt laughed with delight and said, “We’ll just do a regular _Lose My Head_ tonight.”

 

The VIPs awww’d in disappointment.

 

Patrick said, “Matt wrote a new song, though, do you want to hear it? We can do it for soundcheck.”

 

“Do you remember it?” Matt asked him.

 

“I can fake it,” Patrick said, because he thought he could.

 

“Are we adding new songs to our repertoire at this late date?” Anna asked.

 

“Old dogs, new tricks?” said David.

 

“We’ll see,” Matt said. “I don’t know.”

 

“Matt would like to,” Patrick said, because he knew that’s what Matt wanted. When Matt was writing, Matt wanted it out in the world right away. An impulse that Patrick completely understood, because Matt’s syllepsis song had been so gorgeous, he wanted everyone to get to swoon over it.

 

“What do you guys say?” Matt asked the assembled VIPs. “How disappointed would you be if we start playing new stuff at the concerts?”

 

“ _Fall to Me_!” one shouted. Because _Fall to Me_ already have a cult following from when Matt had unveiled it that day at the hotel.

 

“Hmm,” said Matt thoughtfully, and turned back to encompass the whole band. “Maybe we should all talk about this.”

 

David shrugged.

 

Anna crashed at a cymbal.

 

***

 

After soundcheck, they gathered in Matt’s dressing room and Anna said, “So. New music.”

 

“New music?” Carmen echoed. “Are we getting _new music_? You’ve been keeping secrets, _mi amor_ ,” she pouted playfully at Matt, and tugged on his hair with a grin.

 

Matt laughed at her. “So many, _Carmencita_ , you have no idea. I share them only by the light of the new moon.”

 

“In the blood of virgins?” asked Carmen archly.

 

“Okay,” said David. “There are kids here. Flirt elsewhere.”

 

Matt winked at Carmen and said, “Where’s Rachel, anyway? She’s probably going to want to be part of this new music conversation.”

 

“Some issue came up with the Montreal venue.” Carmen shrugged. “She’s sorting through it.”

 

“Oh, dear,” said Matt, “does it have something to do with them not being able to get me my blue M&Ms?”

 

Anna ignored him and said, “How much new music have you two written?”

 

Matt considered. He hadn’t bothered to add up the exact number.

 

“Nothing’s finished,” Patrick said.

 

“He means by that that nothing’s _recorded_ , because he’s a perfectionist. But we’ve got a lot we could start trying out, if we want to learn it.”

 

“It would mean extra rehearsals,” Anna remarked.

 

“Hang on,” David said. “Because suddenly I am thinking this through. You’re writing songs. You are apparently writing a _lot_ of songs. Are we doing an album? Is this a thing? Like, a permanent thing? Because this was pitched to Cora and me as a reunion summer, and that’s not what an album is. That is ‘next act’ kind of a thing. That’s a longer commitment than a summer.”

 

There was a very long, very loud silence. Matt felt unprepared for the question. He and Patrick hadn’t been talking about the future. They’d skirted it very briefly today. They hadn’t talked about _what else_ might possibly be there, waiting for them, if they reached out and grabbed it. If they _wanted_ it.

 

Matt looked at Patrick, to try to gauge how he felt about the idea, how much he wanted them to be not just Mattrick but Swan going forward.

 

Patrick’s brow was furrowed into a frown and he said abruptly, “I’ve got to make a call,” and then left.

 

The kids stared after him.

 

Anna blinked. “Who’s he calling? Every person he knows in the universe is right here.”

 

“Have you two had a fight about this?” David asked.

 

Matt shook his head. “No. We haven’t even _talked_ about it.”

 

“You probably should,” Anna remarked. “How was your date day today?”

 

“It was great,” Matt said honestly. “We had an amazing time. We just…didn’t talk about whether or not we were writing an album.”

 

“You didn’t talk about the _future_ ,” Anna said knowingly.

 

Matt scowled at her, and looked at Patrick’s kids, staring at him, because it was _their_ futures hanging in the balance here and they all knew it.

 

Matt said, “We’ll talk about it later. Let’s just do our show tonight. Is there any hot water here? This carafe is cold.”

 

***

 

Patrick sat in his empty dressing room and backed into his call history. Matt hadn’t erased the missed phone call from Ashley, just taken it off his notifications. She’d left a voicemail, which Patrick hadn’t even noticed because he’d been caught up in Matt. He thought of Matt in the other room, talking _albums_. Matt at lunch, talking _reality television_. Matt had a vibrant, bursting career that involved being _Matt Usher_ , and Patrick had always bobbed along in his wake, and he didn’t know if he wanted to do that anymore. He didn’t know if he wanted to move the kids back to California after he’d just moved them away. But he also knew that he didn’t want to lose Matt, in any way, shape, or form. And that he didn’t want Matt to have to compromise who he was, because that wasn’t fair, either. Matt would roll over for him in a heartbeat. Matt would turn down every opportunity, Matt would stop performing, Matt would live in a ramshackle house on an East Coast beach and never utter a word of complaint, Patrick knew this, and he knew this was exactly why Lilah had been wary of reconciliation, of how much Matt would give up, with both hands, if Patrick thought to ask.

 

Patrick pressed play on Ashley’s voicemail, because, fuck it, his life was complicated enough today, he might as well complicate it further.

 

“Patrick!” said Ashley, with bubbly happiness on his voicemail. “Listen. I wanted to tell you. Something’s come up, and I know that you and the kids were going to be L.A. next month, but I’ve just been invited to spend the rest of the summer on a yacht cruising the Mediterranean, and obviously I’ve just got to go for that, it’s an amazing opportunity, so, yeah, tell the kids I’m sorry and I love them and maybe I can catch all of you the next time you’re in L.A.!”

 

Patrick hung up the phone and spent a little while staring at the blank wall opposite him.

 

Well. That had just made breaking the news to Ashley that the kids weren’t going to visit her much easier.

 

***

 

Matt ostensibly went in search of fresh hot water, but instead he stepped out into the alley on the side of the venue. It was deserted, since there was nothing to be moved in and out, being between two Chicago shows. They were already set up from the show last night.

 

A couple of women at the edge of the alley said, “Oh, my God,” when they saw him, and Matt had a traitorous moment of hating himself for stepping outside. He didn’t even have fucking sunglasses.

 

But the next moment he had fallen into Matt Usher mode and sent them charming smiles and signed the Swan merchandise they had, all old-school, much-loved items that made him feel like an asshole for that moment of tired selfishness. These were people who had maintained their love of Swan for _years_. The least he could do was be grateful to them for it.

 

“We totally didn’t expect anyone to come out,” one of them was gushing.

 

“We were, like, let’s just wander by—”

 

“And then there you were—”

 

“We’re _so sorry_ to bother you.”

 

“You’re not bothering me,” he said, easy and genial, signing and signing.

 

“We’re just such huge fans.”

 

“I have loved you since I was _sixteen_. It’s, like, a true love. My husband has learned to tolerate it.”

 

It wasn’t said in a creepy-stalker way, and Matt laughed. This was just a person who had spent a lot of time with his voice in her ears, with images of him in front of her, and Matt got that. It was part of the incredible luck of his life that he met total strangers who said _I love you_. Him, the lonely little boy who had never heard those words even once until the day Patrick said them, and now he heard them so much that he could actually be able to forget how miraculous they were.

 

“What’s your husband’s name?” Matt asked her.

 

“Theo,” she said.

 

_Theo_ , he signed. _Thanks for putting up with my presence in your marriage. Matt Usher_.

 

He thought the fan (Breanne, she’d said her name was) might actually faint.

 

“Can we get a picture?” the other fan, Holly, asked.

 

“Yes,” Matt said. “On one condition. Can you not, like, tell anyone else I’m out here? I was actually looking for a moment to get myself warmed up. Backstage was chaos.” This was a lie, but easier than saying, _I wanted a second to myself_.

 

Breanne and Holly nodded solemnly and apologized profusely again for bothering him, and he took a selfie with them and said, “Give me an hour before you post it and give it away, and tell people I’ll sign before and after the show tonight for them.”

 

“We will spread the word,” Breanne agreed solemnly.

 

“Thank you _so_ much,” Holly said. “Like, seriously, you cannot even imagine. The people I met through Swan, like, saved my life in high school. Saved my _life_. Really. _Thank you_. Thank you for being as great as we thought.”

 

“I don’t know about that,” Matt said graciously, always aware that virtually everyone had an exaggerated idea of how wonderful or terrible he is, “but the people I met through Swan saved my life, too, so, you know, same.”

 

Breanne and Holly looked charmed by him all over again, and then went on their way with little waves and putting their fingers to their lips.

 

Matt watched them go, then stepped back so he could lean back against the building behind him, hoping to get a minute of silence. He closed his eyes and breathed and thought of future albums and reality television and logistics and Patrick, not needing him to be perfect; Patrick, wanting to make this work this time; _Patrick_ , and his children.

 

“Well, this doesn’t seem all that safe.”

 

Matt opened his eyes and looked at Rachel, coming up the alley toward him. “Safe?” he echoed wearily. “Do you think someone’s going to attack me in an alley?”

 

“Yes?” said Rachel. “Why _don’t_ you think that?”

 

“I don’t know.” Matt shrugged. “I spend a lot of time in alleys. It hasn’t happened so far. People might ask me for a picture, but that’s hardly unsafe.” Matt closed his eyes again.

 

Rachel was watching him instead of taking the hint to leave, and that was frustrating. “Why are you out here?” she asked suspiciously. “Something wrong?”

 

_Patrick’s calling his ex-wife to see what curveball she’s going to throw us now, and I want to get married but don’t feel like he’s ready to hear that yet, but not talking about it is slowly killing me dead inside_. Matt said, “Nothing’s wrong.”

 

“Where’s Patrick?”

 

“Inside.”

 

“Not out here with you?” Rachel clarified.

 

“Do you _see_ him here?” Matt snapped, losing his patience. Why wouldn’t she just _go_?

 

“Did you two have a fight?” Rachel was narrow-eyed with suspicion.

 

“No,” Matt said. “We didn’t have a fight. We’re _fine_ , we’re all—I just wanted a moment to think. That’s all. I just came outside to think.”

 

“Think about what?” Rachel asked.

 

“For fuck’s sake,” Matt sighed, and decided to give up on having the alley to himself.

 

“I just mean,” Rachel said, “if it’s something I can help with—”

 

“It’s nothing you can help with. It’s a private, stupid issue. There’s this thing I want, that I know I could just ask for, but I don’t know if I can ask for it yet, but I would really like to ask for it, and I don’t want to be _strategic_ about it, I don’t want to _scheme_ , but I find that I can’t stop myself, I am just _instinctive_ about trying to pick my moments, and I know that’s not what Patrick wants but I don’t understand how people can just live their lives just, like, _not strategizing_. How do people do that? Oh, my God, why the fuck am I asking you this, I don’t even _like_ you.”

 

“Thanks, Matt,” said Rachel.

 

“Oh, please,” said Matt, “you don’t like me, either.”

 

“No,” Rachel said reflectively. “I don’t.” She paused, then added, “Patrick says that’s because we’re too much alike.”

 

“Christ,” Matt said, alarmed. “When did he say _that_?”

 

Rachel didn’t answer him. She said, “Look, I’m with you. I totally agree. I don’t know how people go through life without a strategy. But I’m thinking that people without a strategy don’t become internationally famous rock stars. I know the world likes to brush that off as sheer talent and luck but that takes a level of drive that I appreciate. And that didn’t come from Patrick. That was you, taking Patrick along for the ride. Patrick doesn’t get strategy because Patrick’s perfectly happy in his come-what-may life. You and I aren’t like that. So he might be right about us being alike.”

 

“Hmm.” Matt glanced up at the very blue sky over their heads and considered this. That was probably true. He was strategic deep in his soul and had been in his entire life, partly because he’d learned early on that you needed to have a strategy just to _survive_ , but also partly because he was just _good_ at it. He schemed because he was good at it, because he could read people, because it could get him what he wanted and who wouldn’t want that? He owed everything in his life to a scheme, including Patrick, because he’d done nothing but be organizing in his seduction of Patrick that night, even if it had gotten away from him. But Patrick, who had grown up safe in a smothering house where he never had to think on his feet—Patrick couldn’t understand why Matt couldn’t just _relax_ and let things come.

 

Patrick was never going to understand.

 

That didn’t mean Patrick didn’t love him, because Patrick _did_ , just like Matt loved Patrick for all of the ways he was different, too. This was what Patrick had meant when he said he didn’t require Matt to change; he just wanted Matt to inch toward him, to take a few non-scheme-related breaths with Patrick, in an unplanned world. A world where Patrick would happily have stayed in bed and instead Matt had planned everything down to the millisecond.

 

“Fuck,” Matt said. “I did today all wrong.”

 

“Your big date with Patrick?”

 

Matt gave her a quizzical look.

 

Rachel shrugged. “I keep tabs on you.”

 

“Oh, God,” Matt groaned. “That’s a little stalker-y.”

 

“That’s my _job_ ,” said Rachel. “Patrick didn’t have a good time?”

 

“No, he did,” Matt said, because he knew Patrick had had a good time. “It was just a very _me_ day. And…I don’t know.”

 

“He probably loved it precisely because it was a you kind of day,” Rachel said frankly, without a trace of sentimentality, and that was bracing, that made it feel more _true_. “Patrick’s wild about you. Whoever you are, you do it right as far as Patrick’s concerned.”

 

“He didn’t always think that,” Matt said, and hated himself for saying it to _Rachel_.

 

“I don’t even think that’s true. Whatever Patrick’s problem was, it wasn’t _you_. It was something you were _doing_ , something that he thought wasn’t you.”

 

“You weren’t around,” Matt said. “You didn’t even know us.”

 

Rachel shrugged. “Maybe that’s why it’s clearer to me. Are you staying out here to think more?”

 

Matt shook his head. “No. Never mind. Maybe I need to start thinking _less_.”

 

“Let me know if you figure that out,” Rachel said, sounding wistful. “I’d like that.”

 

“The _piano_ ,” Matt said. “You need to find yourself a piano.”

 

Rachel shook her head. “I don’t have the same relationship with my piano that you do.”

 

“You should,” Matt said. “I bet you used to. I bet you lost it. The piano, Rachel, is the only thing in your life that is _never_ going to leave. You just have to not leave it.”

 

***

 

Patrick came around the corner of the hallway and stopped in surprise to see Matt and Rachel engaged in conversation. Rachel was giving Matt a look, but it didn’t look like it was an about-to-kill-you look, so Patrick couldn’t imagine why suddenly things seemed to be going well for them, but it was a pleasant turn of events.

 

Matt turned his head as Patrick arrived and said, “Hi.”

 

“There you are,” Patrick said, and couldn’t really hide his relief.

 

“Here I am,” Matt agreed, looking at him closely. “You okay?”

 

Patrick nodded, even though he wasn’t and had specifically gone in search of Matt when he wasn’t in the dressing room. “Did you get the hot water?”

 

“What?” asked Matt.

 

“They said you went in search of hot water.” Patrick tipped his head quizzically.

 

“Oh. Yeah. I forgot. I went outside to get some air, and there were some fans…” Matt waved his hand.

 

“Outside to get some air? It’s like 90 degrees with a hundred percent humidity out there.”

 

“Yeah,” Matt said. “It wasn’t a good idea.”

 

“I’ve sorted out the issue with Montreal,” Rachel said.

 

Patrick had no idea what that issue even was. “Okay,” he said to be agreeable.

 

Rachel looked between the two of them, then said, “So I’m just going to…” She wandered of down the hallway.

 

Patrick looked at Matt. “That looked like an almost normal conversation.”

 

“Did you tell her that she and I are alike?” Matt asked.

 

“You _are_ alike.”

 

“I’m having all sorts of weird terror over how close I cut it, finding you again. You had a me replacement on a _first date_.” Matt did look genuinely stricken.

 

“You’re alike,” Patrick said, smiling, “in that you’re too stubborn to get along. Not in that you’re interchangeable loves of my life.”

 

And Patrick could see that Matt wasn’t truly alarmed because Matt moved on. “Are you okay?” Matt asked. “Did you talk to Ashley? You look like you’re in a post-Ashley state.”

 

Patrick sighed. “I didn’t talk to her. She left a voicemail.”

 

“And?”

 

“And.” Patrick ran a hand through his hair, feeling fidgety. “It’s a good thing I told the kids they couldn’t see their mom.”

 

Matt narrowed his eyes. “Do not even tell me she bailed on them.”

 

“She’s going to stay on a yacht on the Mediterranean.”

 

“Fuck her,” Matt said furiously. “This is _exactly_ why your kids are the way they are about her.”

 

“I know,” Patrick said wearily. He felt too exhausted to be angry at Ashley, and he wished Matt wasn’t. He wanted Matt to cuddle him and be soft and sweet.

 

Matt cut off whatever he was about to say, apparently seeing exactly what Patrick needed, because he suddenly went soft and sweet and murmured, “Come here,” and pulled Patrick in.

 

Patrick went with a little snuffle, pressing his face into Matt’s neck. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

 

“No, you’re not,” Matt said.

 

“Yes, I _am_ ,” Patrick insisted. “I don’t even know why I married her.”

 

“Yes, you do. Because she was the opposite of me. You know how you were feeling about me: hyper-planned out, chess pieces on the board, strategic musings. And you found the opposite, which was Ashley. Ashley who couldn’t plan for anything if her life depended on it. Ashley who flits in whatever direction the wind blows her. You can’t blame yourself for the Ashley thing, you were reacting against me, it was my fault.”

 

Patrick considered, then lifted his head and said, “You know. It never occurred to me, when we were younger, that the corollary to your insisting on taking all the credit for everything would turn out to be that you try to keep all the blame, too.”

 

Matt was silent for a moment. “I just like for everything to be about me,” he said finally.

 

Patrick laughed, which felt good. _This is why I love you_ , he thought. This was why he’d always, always loved him. At the heart of everything, Patrick felt better with Matt than he ever did without him.

 

“You shouldn’t tell them,” Matt said, when Patrick’s laughter had faded.

 

“I was thinking that.”

 

“It’s just… God, it fucks you up, realizing you’ve lost the choice, that your relationship with your parents has been taken from you forever and you never got a say in it. It _fucks_ you _up_. Don’t do it to them. Let them think they have a choice, now and in the future. They deserve that. I think they need that.”

 

“Yeah,” Patrick said. “I don’t like to lie to them. But I think…yes.”

 

“We were young, and we did stupid things,” Matt said. “I’ve never seen anyone do a better job with rising above them than you have.”

 

And that, Patrick thought, was exactly what he’d needed to hear.

 

***

 

_Montreal_

 

“So,” Anna prompted them, “what was it like for you to join Swan?”

 

“Ah,” said Matt, looking at Patrick, “that’s a question for you, since I never had to join Swan. I _was_ Swan.”

 

“Jesus Christ,” Patrick said, and rolled his eyes. “Actually, I feel like that’s a question for Anna: What was it like for me to join Swan?”

 

“Really,” Anna said, “honestly, we were all so fucking sick of listening to Matt go on and on about you, we were relieved to see you. Also, the songs were good. The songs Matt was bringing back to us were clearly so much better than Matt’s stuff had been before he met you. Brie was all for it.”

 

“Brie said, ‘The wind runs sideways, never up and down,’ and we decided that meant she was all for it,” Matt said drily.

 

Patrick laughed, because he remembered meeting Brie for the first time, and the look on Matt’s face with every vague statement she said.

 

“We haven’t talked about Brie yet,” Anna said. “Do you want to talk about Brie?”

 

“Brie was Swan’s agent,” Patrick said. “You had her when I showed up. How did you get her?”

 

“She was one of the mushers,” Matt replied. “Same as Lilah, although I didn’t know Lilah yet, not as a manager, or someone who was going to be our manager, I guess. But Brie said she had music connections. This was a lie.”

 

Patrick laughed. “I highly doubt Brie said she had music connections. I think she probably said something about the snow lying thick on the hillsides in January.”

 

Matt laughed in return and said, “I don’t know. Whatever. What I liked about Brie was that she believed in us first. Like. She was the first person to look at us and think we could be something. She stuck with us. And then you took her in the whole…” Matt waved his hand around. “Thing we had. So she kept sticking with us. And I love that about Brie. She was the one who handled the first demo.”

 

“But first I had to learn to play with a band,” Patrick said, “and that was miserable.”

 

“You were fucking awful,” Anna said with feeling.

 

“Thanks, Anna. So glad I stuck with this band idea.”

 

“I’m just saying,” Anna said.

 

“No, I know. I’d been a solo artist. I’d been a _classically trained pianist_. It took a while.”

 

“They were tense rehearsals,” Anna said.

 

“They were horrible rehearsals,” Patrick said.

 

“I do not remember that _at all_ ,” Matt said, sounding wondering. “We were fantastic from the very first time you played in with us.”

 

Patrick and Anna both looked at him.

 

Anna said, “Okay, this isn’t going to get put in the documentary, but, Matt: You didn’t notice because you were so fucking head over heels that you weren’t even noticing the ground beneath your feet. Don’t you remember? After, like, the third rehearsal, I asked you if you were serious about this guy, remember?”

 

“Yes,” Matt said. “I do remember.”

 

“Right. Because if you said no, I was going to say, ‘Good, go fuck him on your own time and let’s fix our band again.’ But you said yes.”

 

Patrick looked at him. “You said yes?”

 

Matt looked back. “Of course I said yes. I was always serious about you. You know that.”

 

“And, I mean, Matt was right,” Anna said. “Once you got the hang of it, I can’t imagine Swan without you now. We just all had to kind of learn how to work together.”

 

“Thank you, Anna,” Patrick said solemnly. “I’m glad you learned to live with me in the end.”

 

Anna grinned at him. “Whatever. Tell me how it felt for you.”

 

“It felt…I don’t know. Horrible, at first. Like, I was a really good piano player, and the three of you had been playing together for so long that it made me feel useless and horrible, like I was an intruder. You have to understand, by that time Matt and I had been—writing together, just the two of us, for a while, and I kind of resented all this time with other people. So I probably wasn’t at my best.” Patrick paused. “And then we played our first gig together. And I didn’t think we were ready and I tried to get out of it and I wanted to run away, I thought I might actually run away before we got up on the stage.”

 

“Yeah, and what did you say to me when it was over?” Matt asked knowingly, because he clearly remembered that night as vividly as Patrick did.

 

“I said I never wanted to play by myself ever again,” Patrick said.

 

“Aww,” Anna said. “You didn’t tell _us_ that.”

 

Patrick laughed. “I didn’t tell him in, you know, respectable circumstances. Cut that, too. But, I mean, I was such a haze of nerves to start off with, I didn’t think I was going to remember anything, not a single note I knew.”

 

***

 

Patrick was in such a haze of nerves, he didn’t think he was going to remember anything, not a single note of any of the songs they’d been rehearsing.

 

Matt was warming up his voice, pacing in the tiny backstage area, and Anna and David were glaring at Patrick stonily, because Patrick was pretty sure they saw him as the person who had stolen their lead singer with sex and was already practically breaking up the band. He was going to end up being Swan’s Yoko Ono.

 

And Matt had so much to do, so much to worry about, Matt had the entire weight of the upcoming set on his shoulders, so Patrick really didn’t want to bother him by being a baby but maybe Patrick was being a baby and didn’t want to get on this stage, he had virtually never performed before, something he had been lying to Matt about because he didn’t want Matt to realize exactly how green he was.

 

“Are you freaking out?” Anna demanded.

 

Anna was terrifying to Patrick. David seemed mostly sweet but David followed his older sister’s lead so he wasn’t exactly an ally. But Anna _terrified_ Patrick. Especially since she was clearly Matt’s best friend, and Patrick was clearly a very big part of Matt at the moment.

 

“No,” Patrick lied.

 

Matt came in between them, bouncing on his toes and singing himself a scale, looking giddy with anticipation, sunglasses resting in his thicket of dark hair.

 

Patrick looked at the sunglasses to distract himself. “What’s up with those?”

 

“I don’t mind people looking at me,” Matt said, “but I want to control _how_.”

 

Patrick supposed that made some kind of sense.

 

Then Matt grinned at him. “Are you excited? Isn’t this so exciting? First show of the rest of Swan’s life.” Matt suddenly spread his arms wide and gathered all of them up in an encompassing group hug.

 

Anna glared at Patrick grumpily, blaming this on him, too.

 

“This audience out there,” Matt announced grandly, “they are going to witness _history_. In the future, reporters will clamor to track them down to ask them what this first set was like. People will be able to say _they were there_. They’ll probably _lie_ about being there, that’s what a big deal this is going to be.”

 

There was a moment of silence.

 

Patrick said, “We’re playing four songs, Matt.”

 

Matt grinned at him. “ _Legendary_ ,” he said, and then he bounded onto the stage.

 

Anna grumbled at Patrick, “If you can’t remember the notes, just stop playing rather than fuck us up.”

 

Patrick said, “Good pep talk,” because he got sarcastic when he was nervous.

 

Anna said nothing but David gave him a hesitant pat on the shoulder on his way past, as if he felt bad about that.

 

Patrick went over to the keyboard and tried not to feel ridiculous standing behind it. Matt was introducing them and Patrick was taking deep breaths and staring at the keys and trying to remember how the first song started.

 

And then Matt said, “This one’s a new one, we call it _Lose My Head_.”

 

_Right_ , Patrick thought. _Lose My Head_. He had _written_ this. Patrick took a deep breath, and looked at Anna, who looked back at him and counted them in, and Patrick looked at Matt, who crooned out his first line right when he was supposed to, and David’s saxophone line kicked in, and the crowd went _crazy_ , and Matt ratcheted up his singing in response, lithe and seductive on stage, and Patrick had never before really thought about how sexy _Lose My Head_ was. He’d known it objectively but he could feel it now, in the way the crowd was reacting. Energy thrummed over his head, practically palpable, and Anna and David and Matt kept meeting cues, professional and perfect, and Patrick fell in with them, and together there was this _song_ , far greater than the sum of any of its parts, this _song_ that Patrick had _written_ and Matt was singing it and this entire audience was taking it and it was becoming something else entirely, something so huge that Patrick couldn’t swallow it, couldn’t hold it, couldn’t comprehend it, couldn’t fit it into the size of the room they were in.

 

_Everyone will say there were here_ , Patrick thought with sudden clarity. It was a few dozen people on a crowded dance floor, and in the future Matt was right, it was going to be _thousands_ of people pretending they were here when this moment happened, when Patrick stopped being Patrick Reed and stepped into Swan.

 

The set went by in the blink of an eye. The crowd was raucous, ecstatic, wanted an encore, shouted for it, demanded it.

 

There wasn’t really much off-stage area. They were clearly visible, as the crowd chanted at them, _We want Swan, we want Swan_. Matt’s hair was spiked with sweat and he looked amazed, thunderstruck.

 

“What the fuck,” Anna said, staring at the crowd.

 

“They’ve never done that before,” David remarked.

 

Anna turned astonished eyes on Patrick. “Is this you? Did you do this? Are you some kind of leprechaun and you weren’t telling us?”

 

“This is _him_ ,” said Patrick, indicating Matt. “I didn’t do anything but play.”

 

“Go tell them we don’t have anything else to sing them,” Anna told Matt.

 

Matt put his sunglasses back on and jogged back out onto the stage to warm approval. “We don’t have anything else to sing you,” Matt laughed into the microphone. “I mean, we’re so new. We’re just getting started. You’re very kind to—”

 

“Play the first one!” someone in the crowd shouted.

 

“Yeah, play the first one again!” someone else agreed, and then the shouts began piling up, louder and louder.

 

Matt stepped back from the mic and gestured to them. “We’ll play _Lose My Head_ again,” he said.

 

So they got back into place, the applause louder than anything Patrick had heard before, and they playing _Lose My Head_ again, and by the end the crowd was singing the last line with Matt, like they’d heard the song a thousand times before.

 

They managed, after the encore, to escape outside, where it was bitingly cold but they couldn’t feel it.

 

Brie stumbled out after them, looking shell-shocked. “Where did that first song come from?”

 

Patrick felt like Anna and David stepped away, leaving him and Matt standing in the harsh lights of the alley on the side of the club.

 

“We wrote it,” Matt said, waving a hand between him and Patrick.

 

“Do you have more?” Brie asked.

 

“Yeah,” Matt said honestly.

 

“The camel stores water until it needs it,” said Brie.

 

“What the fuck,” said Matt.

 

“It means that is a _sound_ , and we are running with it. You two: never stop writing songs together.”

 

“Wait,” said a voice in the dark coming up to them. Lilah, Patrick saw when she got close. “Can I get in on this? Because I was waiting for just this moment.”

 

“Just what moment?” said Matt.

 

Lilah turned a smile on him and said, “The moment when you found someone to drip your sex all over.”

 

***

 

It was the first of many, many, many stage-drunk, performance-high sexual encounters, although Patrick did not know that at the time. At the time it felt precious and unusual and amazing, something to be cherished as something rare. After five years of doing it, he would forget that, more often than not, he would forget how it had felt that very first time.

 

But when they were panting together, covered in sweat that was half from performing and half from sex, in the dark cocoon of Patrick’s bed, Patrick gasped, “I never want to play by myself ever again.”

 

And Matt said, “I’m never going to let you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...don't even know what to say. Finishing a thing like this is so bittersweet. It's been such a delight to live with these people in my head all this time, and I'm going to miss them terribly. 
> 
> I'm especially going to miss the Swan Song playlist, which I have listened to A LOT, and is here, in all its glory: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1AppHTVewlOWsecMnrUfvJ
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who's been so fabulous about this story: QueenThayet who has written such great fic, helped with lyrics, and wrote me some gorgeous melodies; swtalmnd who also writes such great fic and makes such beautiful Mattrick drawings; IAmANonnieMouse who also wrote a gorgeous melody; Aja who *also* wrote a gorgeous melody.
> 
> Seriously, people wanting to write stuff to go with your stuff is SO GREAT. All the cheerleading and support has just been...incredible, and I've been blown away. 
> 
> Special thanks to Fall Out Boy. This is not a Fall Out Boy fic. And my Patrick was named waaaaay before I knew Patrick Stump's name. Such a weird coincidence. And the two Patricks aren't very like each other, just like Matt decidedly isn't Pete. And this story was started long before I'd ever read any bandom fic. But bandom really cracked this fic open for me at a time when I was struggling with it a little bit, and so I have to thank them for that. It really crystallized for me why Matt's strategic personality was so important to the band, and why Patrick might have struggled with the first iteration of their relationship and their success. 
> 
> I am not a music person. I just don't know much about it. I wanted to write a story about people in a band, and so I did, and I hope you love Swan as much as I do. Because I *love* them. I'd buy a million Swan t-shirts and go to a million Swan concerts.
> 
> This actually started out as Patrick's story, and I love him dearly. But in the end it turned into Matt's story, and I love him so very much, and it made me very happy to make him happy. To make them both happy. I hope they make you happy, too.

_Minneapolis_

 

“Do you want to talk about your parents?” Anna asked Matt.

 

Matt…felt terrible. Matt had been fighting it for so long now that he couldn’t remember the last time his voice had felt right to him. The hot water with lemon and honey was fighting an increasingly losing battle and Patrick’s eyes were like a hawk on him all the time and Matt was exhausted and didn’t feel good and probably needed a break and had wall-to-wall concerts for the next couple of weeks with no time for a break so he wasn’t saying anything to anyone because they had _fans_ who were counting on Swan showing up for them, so Matt had a lot going on in his head and he had thought the documentary filming was going to be something he could have let Patrick talk about. Surely they were almost at the part where the record deal had happened, where Patrick formally quit school and dealt with his parents, where Patrick, backstage before a show bigger than any they’d ever played before, took a panicking Matt aside and said _I love you_ as if they were magic words. Which they _were_.

 

Matt had thought the day would be about that. Swan’s history still on an upswing, before the plummet began. He had not expected the question about his parents.

 

“What?” he said, sounding strangled.

 

Patrick was still beside him, and Matt could guess that he was trying to decide how much help Matt might need with this.

 

“Patrick already told us about his parents, so I thought you might like to tell us about yours,” said Anna, and she did ask it gently, because she _knew_ about his parents.

 

Matt stared at Anna, and suddenly realized that maybe he should have seen this coming. Because in between that first magic Swan performance and the second magical event of the record label signing, there had been a night, in a van, coming back from a gig Brie and Lilah had managed to procure for them, with Anna and David sleeping in the back and Patrick driving and Matt in the passenger seat, trying to keep him company, running out of things to say, finding himself saying, “My father left before I was born.”

 

***

 

“My father left before I was born,” Matt said, watching the road outside his window pass by. They were on a country road, and every once in a while there was the darker outline of a mailbox, or the sudden flash of a house with its lights on, but mostly it was just the gloom of leafless trees, in the deepness of an upstate New York winter night. It was cold in the van they’d rented, because the heat didn’t work properly, and Matt was sitting on his hands to keep warmth in them, and his breath fogged against the window, and he didn’t look at Patrick. He didn’t even know why he’d _said_ this.

 

Patrick, after a moment, said lightly, “Fuck him.”

 

Which startled laughter out of Matt, who turned to look at his profile, and thought that he’d said this because there was an intimacy here in the front seat of this van right now that seemed somehow more in keeping with secret-sharing than Patrick’s bed. Patrick’s bed was a sacred place, a place Matt cherished beyond measure and did not want sullied with this confession. But this van meant nothing to him, other than a place where he was getting Patrick to himself, Anna and David both snoring lightly in the back.

 

Patrick sent him a quizzical look that Matt could make out in the headlights from an oncoming car washing over them. “Is this what you were so worried to tell me? Why would you be ashamed of that? Matt, you had nothing to do with his leaving. You know that, right? It wasn’t your fault. He left because he was an idiot, and it was entirely his loss.”

 

Matt shrugged, trying to be casual and nonchalant about it, and looked out the window again. “I don’t know. My mother seemed to disagree.”

 

“Well, she’s an idiot, too, then,” Patrick replied. “Matt, trust me when I tell you: However your parents are fucked up, it’s not your fault.”

 

Matt was silent for a long moment, absorbing this, watching the nightscape beyond his window. Patrick’s relationship with his parents wasn’t ideal, Matt knew, but it was frustrating in an entirely different way. Patrick’s parents paid more attention to the _idea_ of him than the _reality_ of him, was Matt’s assessment. But Matt’s parents had never wanted to pay attention to anything about him.

 

Matt said suddenly, “She’s dead, too.”

 

“Your mom?” Patrick clarified, after a second.

 

“Yeah. She overdosed. I was eight.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Patrick said, and he sounded it.

 

Matt shook his head in a sharp little jerk, but he didn’t say _Don’t be_ , the way he so often did, because suddenly he got why Patrick was saying it. _He_ was sorry, too, that the whole thing had happened, that he had spent the youngest part of his childhood navigating a mother whose dedication was to something that wasn’t him, to whom he was at best an indifference and at worst a literal obstacle in the way of what she truly wanted, and he had grown up without knowing that’s what he was doing. When he got older, and he looked at six-year-olds, he couldn’t understand how they were still babies, when he’d been foraging for his own dinner to put on the table by that age.

 

“You know that wasn’t your fault, either,” Patrick said matter-of-factly, breaking into Matt’s thoughts.

 

“That one I _really_ don’t know about,” Matt replied self-deprecatingly. “Sometimes I think maybe I willed it with the power of my mind. I found her, you know, and what I remember when I found her was _relief_ , that I wasn’t going to have to—” Matt cut himself off suddenly.

 

But Patrick finished for him. “Take care of her anymore?” he guessed. “You were _eight_ , Matt. Of course you shouldn’t have been taking care of her. You’re not a terrible person for being relieved. I’m sorry you ever thought that about yourself, but you’re _not_.”

 

Matt swallowed thickly and looked out the window and tried to internalize what Patrick was saying. He said, trying to keep it light, “A lot of people disagree with you.”

 

Because a lot of people did. He’d heard it over and over from foster parents, that he was a terrible, disagreeable kid, stubborn, headstrong, difficult, impossible, and generally _not nice_.

 

“Let me tell you something about yourself,” Patrick said, his voice casual in a way that made Matt feel like he might be telling the actual truth. “I have had you in situations where you have been virtually out of your head, very raw and very wrecked and very _you_.”

 

The straightforwardness of this announcement had Matt blinking at Patrick. He couldn’t exactly disagree but he hadn’t thought they were going to suddenly start discussing their sex life. “Okay,” he said slowly.

 

“What I mean is.” Patrick glanced at him quickly before looking back at the road. “In all this time, in all those situations, when you are very incapable of artifice, when you are just _you_ …you’re kind of ridiculously sweet.” Patrick sneaked a sheepish corner-of-his-eye look his way. “It’s almost more than I can handle, the things you say in that state. I’m telling you this because anyone who was a terrible person wouldn’t have at their essential heart of them, when they’re stripped bare, the sweet things you have at the heart of you. I don’t care what everyone else has told you. None of them have ever known you like I do. And I’m the one telling you the truth. You’re a nice person. You’re sweet, and kind, and nice. Are you also loud and stubborn and demanding? Yes. But that’s not because you’re not nice. That’s because you’re living your life at this fever pitch the rest of us can only aspire to. That’s because you’ve got a dream in your head that you want reality, which means you have to literally _reshape_ reality, and no one does that quietly, or without making a mess. No one does that without _wanting_ things. You didn’t kill your mother, and you didn’t run away. You ran _to_. And you should remember that about yourself. You ran to this, and I’m your resident skeptic on music saving your life but after the series of shows we just played, I’ve got to say: I think it was a good thing to run to.”

 

Matt stared across at Patrick, and wanted to…wanted to just believe him, forever and ever. He said, his voice hoarse, “Thank you.”

 

Patrick shook his head and glanced over at him again. “Don’t thank me for the truth, Matt.”

 

“Foster care,” Matt said. “I was running away from foster care.”

 

“I don’t blame you,” Patrick said.

 

The car fell silent. In the backseat, Anna and David kept snoring. Matt tipped his head against the window, feeling thoughtful and reflective, wanting to keep turning Patrick’s speech over in his head.

 

“Can I ask you something?” Patrick asked eventually, after Matt didn’t know how long a time had passed.

 

“Of course,” Matt said, wanting to be as open as Patrick seemed to think he was.

 

“Who taught you to play?”

 

“I learned guitar first,” Matt said. “During the last couple of years before my mom died, we managed to live in one place, and there was an older kid a couple of doors over who played. He taught me. And then I… I mean, music was the one thing I had. It felt like the one thing I had. It felt like the only thing I was ever going to have. It…was…” Matt realized suddenly that he was surprised to find himself in a position to have music _and_ something else. To have music and Patrick. It had never occurred to him, the possibility that he might have another person, that it wouldn’t just always be him against the world.

 

Patrick said, “When did you pick up piano?” as if Matt wasn’t trying to internalize an enormous realization he was having about what the shape of his future looked like.

 

“After my mom died, I was kind of tossed around for a while. And at one place there was a piano. And I…bartered lessons.”

 

Patrick was silent for a moment, and Matt waited for him to ask about the barter. But he didn’t.

 

Patrick said, “Well. You must be a genius, then. Because I had thirteen years of dedicated lessons and don’t play half as well as you.”

 

“You play better than me,” Matt said, and he was trying to tease, he was trying to…to…something, but his voice was undeniably thick with tears, because he was looking at Patrick and thinking, _I love you_. It wasn’t just being in love, or being in lust, or a musical attraction. Matt _loved_ him. He was sure this was what it felt like: This was what it felt like to love. He was…

 

He was _floored_ by it.

 

“Hey,” Patrick said, and reached out to find his hand and squeeze it. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset, I just wanted to—”

 

Matt took the hand Patrick had given him and pulled it up to his mouth and kissed it with a reverence that silenced Patrick.

 

“Patrick,” Matt murmured against the skin of his palm.

 

“Yeah,” Patrick replied, sounding uncertain.

 

“I want to conquer the world with you. Do you want to conquer the world with me?”

 

“We can set our sights much lower than that,” Patrick said, laughing.

 

“I won’t sell us short,” Matt replied, with a quiet intensity that felt like a vow.

 

***

 

Matt didn’t get any of that out for the benefit of Anna’s cameras. Matt said, “My father left before I was born. My mom died of an overdose when I was eight. I was raised in foster care. That’s really all there is to tell.”

 

There was a flatness to his tone, and Matt could feel Patrick next to him about to cut everything off, cut Anna off, except that Anna cut herself off. “Let’s talk about something else,” she said.

 

_Thank Christ_ , thought Matt, but didn’t say.

 

Anna said, “Okay, the band’s together, everything’s going well, talk to me about the first EP.”

 

That was a thing Matt could talk about. That was a straightforward thing. “Brie got a record label exec to come see us. Well, that’s what she said he was. Actually, he was just somebody’s kid with too much money. But you shouldn’t knock people with too much money, which Brie knew. The kid was enthusiastic, and he loaned us money to record an EP.”

 

“There was a contract,” Patrick said. “His lawyers drew it up. My father was a lawyer, so that’s when I told him I was in a band and we had people interested in us and could he look over the contract.”

 

“A conversation that did not go well,” Matt said.

 

“Fuck him,” Patrick said, and Matt looked at him in surprise. But Patrick was looking at the camera. “Matt Usher told me we were going to conquer the world together, and I believed him.” And Matt realized suddenly that Patrick had been deep in the same recollection he’d been in, in that dark, quiet van, hurtling down a winter road toward a future they could never have imagined. Patrick looked at him then. “He told me we were going to conquer the world together, and then we did.”

 

“There were so many steps in between,” Matt said.

 

“It felt like it happened overnight,” Patrick said. “One day I was telling my parents I was quitting school, and they were telling me it was a huge mistake, and the next there was your voice singing to us on the radio, remember?”

 

Matt did remember. You didn’t forget the first time you heard yourself on the radio.

 

“The people at the gigs started to know the words,” Matt picked up the narrative. “They _knew_ the fucking _words_. They sang them with me. Sometimes they were so loud I could barely hear myself. I would have to stop because I’d lost my place in the song and _they_ would tell me where I was. One night, I stood on a stage and opened my mouth to sing the opening line to _Lose My Head_ and I never did because they sang it for me.” Matt looked at Patrick. “Remember? They sang the _whole fucking song_. I never opened my mouth for it. I _couldn’t_. I thought I was going to cry.”

 

“I remember,” Patrick said. “I am never going to forget anything about that night. _That night_.”

 

***

 

_This night_ , Patrick thought wonderingly, playing _Lose My Head_ automatically, because Matt was singing, because Matt was standing at the microphone staring open-mouthed at the crowd in front of him, the crowd swaying to Anna’s beat, the crowd shouting, _It goes both ways, darling!_ With a punch of their hands in the air for the beat at the end of the line.

 

Matt, who was a whirligig of energy during every gig, who never stood still, who bantered and flirted and oozed his way through every performance, Matt stood at the microphone and listened to the crowd sing their song to them.

 

Patrick stopped playing, and the crowd swelled in, louder, clearer, to fill the space where his piano had been.

 

_You make me lose my head_ , the crowd sang. _You just make me lose my head_.

 

Anna’s drums stopped, because that was the end of the song, and the crowd’s singalong ended in a round of wild applause, and Matt, their frontman, the person they depended on to express their words, cleared his throat at the microphone and said with an obvious catch in his voice, “Fucking hell.”

 

There was a smattering of laughter from the crowd.

 

“I don’t know,” he said helplessly, and looked over at Patrick. “Trick, play us a sonata or something while I collect my scattered wits.”

 

There was more laughter, and some encouraging whistles.

 

Patrick started playing something automatically, because Matt had asked him to, and Matt turned back to the crowd and said over the classical music now in his background, “Do you want us to do it again and I’ll actually sing it for you this time?”

 

“Sing it _with_ us!” someone shouted from the crowd.

 

“Yeah,” Matt agreed. “Yeah, I’ll sing it with you. A.J., let’s take it from the top.”

 

***

 

Matt was so dazed that he couldn’t piece things together in his head. “They knew every word,” he said. “They knew _every fucking word_.”

 

“That’s the goal,” said Lilah brusquely. “That’s what you want.”

 

“Yeah, but…” Matt didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to say, _I’ve been working my whole life for this but I didn’t think I’d get it. I didn’t think I’d actually get it_. He’d been the one pushing everyone, directing everyone’s lives, as if this had all been a sure thing. He didn’t want to betray how much he’d never expected it to be true. Matt had been a con artist, selling other people on a gold-plated dream. He was startled to discover it might not have been a con.

 

And, of course, he might try to hide it—he might try as he might—but Patrick was going to notice, because Patrick _knew_ him, in this deep inexorable way. Maybe, Matt thought, it was writing songs together. Maybe you got that way when you wrote songs together. Maybe it was an act to intense and intimate, more intimate than any sexual act they could engage in, the melding of the hearts through their heads, through the truest expression of their souls.

 

Maybe that was why Patrick looked at him, in the horrible motel they’d splurged on because _people knew every word to their songs now_ , and said, with aching gentleness, “Let me take you apart. Let you shut off that head.”

 

Because Patrick knew: Patrick knew Matt was never going to sleep tonight. He was going to stay up, trembling, panicking because all of his dreams were about to come true and he didn’t know what was going to happen after that.

 

Matt nodded wordlessly, and Patrick _worked magic_ , with hands and lips and tongue, sweeping over Matt, dismantling him, silencing the panic, and saying silently, _I’m here-here-here_ , and _You’re not alone_ , and _Here’s a thing you never even dared to dream about_. It was onslaught of sensation and Matt willingly, happily drowned in it, let Patrick pull him under and keep him there, until everything— _everything_ —seemed bearable.

 

***

 

Matt was supple and pliant beside him, boneless, lazy, and he was watching Patrick with a small smile on his lips.

 

“Aren’t you tired?” Patrick asked, a little disconcerted. “I was trying to knock you out.” He leaned forward to kiss the smile on Matt’s lips, because he couldn’t resist getting a taste of it.

 

“Mmm,” said Matt into the kiss. “I know. It’s not your fault I’m not going to be able to sleep. They knew our song, Patrick. They knew every _beat_ of it.”

 

“I don’t know if it’s our song anymore,” Patrick remarked ruefully, stretching out next to Matt. “It might be theirs now.”

 

Matt’s breath caught audibly next to him. It was dark in the room, but Matt’s eyes caught what little light there was in the room, glittering darkly. Matt’s eyes were like that, dark in color but always somehow the brightest thing in any room. Matt was painfully gorgeous, and lovely, and sweet, and Patrick loved him so much he couldn’t breathe with it, loved him with this slice of bittersweet sharpness, because tonight Matt had stood in front of a crowd that knew who he was and adored him and Patrick had felt the shift like the fabric of the universe had been ripped in two. It was never again going to be the way it had been, just the two of them, curled up in a bed that was the size of their whole world. The universe had come knocking and Matt had opened the door and stepped through it, and Patrick was going to have to follow him if he wanted to keep him.

 

And Patrick desperately wanted to keep him.

 

“Matt,” Patrick said, surprised by how hoarse his voice sounded, but it was suddenly so important that Matt know this, before whatever was about to happen to them, before whatever wave was about to crash over them. This was the moment of sucking, silent calm, just the two of them, in a bed the size of their whole world, and Patrick needed to occupy it, he knew.

 

Matt said, “Yeah,” sounding quizzical.

 

And Patrick said, “I love you.”

 

Matt made a sound like a little squeak, that Patrick couldn’t interpret. Patrick wished suddenly that he _hadn’t_ stepped into this particular moment, that he’d told Matt this in bright daylight, so he could have watched the reaction in those expressive eyes. As it was, Patrick wasn’t sure how to react to a squeak.

 

Then Matt pounced on him, with much more energy than Patrick would have supposed him to have a minute earlier. Patrick found himself on his back with Matt straddling him, the wind knocked out of him.

 

“Say it again,” Matt demanded. He sounded gleeful, and greedy, and Patrick liked the way he sounded.

 

“I love you.”

 

“ _Patrick_ ,” said Matt, and kissed him hard and deep, dizzying.

 

“You could say it back,” Patrick managed, laughing, because it was clear Matt returned the sentiment from the way he was kissing.

 

“Yes,” Matt said. “Yes. I’m going to. I really am going to. Say it one more time first.”

 

It burst on Patrick suddenly what this was, and he should have realized, he should have _realized_ , because he _knew_ Matt, he knew everything about him, he should have realized before he’d said it but he didn’t think it until that moment, when it burst obvious upon him: _He’s never heard that before_.

 

And so Patrick stilled Matt’s head with his hands and said it this time with all the firm conviction of a vow. “Matthew Jonathan Usher, I love you.”

 

Matt was so, so still on top of him, for a long, suspended moment, and then he whispered, “I love you, too. I love you, too. I love you, too,” and showered Patrick with kisses, flooded him with them, overwhelmed him.

 

***

 

In the morning, Patrick woke to Matt unabashedly staring at him from a foot away from him in the bed.

 

“Hello, you,” Patrick murmured, and closed his eyes again.

 

“We have to go,” Matt said.

 

“Do we?” Patrick asked without interest.

 

“Yeah. I think so. I don’t know. Do you maybe want to say it to me again?”

 

Patrick chuckled and opened his eyes so he could watch Matt in the daylight. “I love you.”

 

He was glad he’d opened his eyes, because it was astonishing to watch Matt’s reaction, the way the joy lit him up. Patrick had never seen him look like that. Matt was always bright and dazzling, but never in just this particular way. Patrick locked the knowledge of it up inside of him.

 

“You know,” he said, tipping his head closer to Matt, “I’m going to have to share you.”

 

“With who?” Matt asked, sounding confused.

 

“The world, Matt,” Patrick answered ruefully.

 

Matt scoffed. “No, you won’t,” he said.

 

_Let me have this piece of you_ , Patrick thought. _This piece of you here in this bed with me, this piece of you who smiles at me like this, this piece of you who lights up when I tell you I love you_.

 

He didn’t say it.

 

He said instead, “Say it back.”

 

Matt said, “I love you. I do. I’ve thought it for a long time, but it’s not really…it’s not really a thing that I know, or understand. I’ve never been in love before, but I feel like this is what it feels like.” He spoke with firm conviction, like he had said this to himself many times in his head, and Patrick was helplessly charmed by him.

 

He was usually helplessly charmed by him.

 

He replied, “I’ve been in love before, and I promise you, it never felt as fantastic as _this_.”

 

“Well, I mean,” said Matt, grinning, “have you ever fallen in love to your own soundtrack before?”

 

“No,” Patrick laughed, and pushed Matt onto his back to kiss him more fully. Then he pulled back. “You know, that’s the bridge you’ve been looking for for _Luck_. ‘I’ve never been in love before, but I think that’s what this is. You say you’ve been in love before but it never felt like this.’ Right? Something like that?”

 

“Oh, my God,” said Matt, “are you finishing a song right now instead of fucking me?”

 

Patrick laughed and leaned his head back down to kiss him again. “I’m writing my soundtrack to falling in love.”

 

“I can’t believe my luck,” Matt half-sang, and Patrick kissed the end of the phrase into his mouth.

And then Matt’s phone started ringing. Not that Matt would notice. Patrick had never known Matt to notice his phone. He pulled back from him, ignoring Matt’s noise of protest, and said, “Your phone’s ringing, darling.”

 

“It’s probably not important,” Matt said.

 

“I don’t know,” Patrick said, thinking of a crowd last night singing every single word to their song. “I think it probably is.”

 

Matt sighed heavily and went fishing through abandoned clothing until he found it, frowning at it. “Brie,” he said, answering it. “Let’s just leave late, we don’t need to—What?...Wait, _what_?” Patrick, watching him, felt like he knew exactly what Brie was saying, and that this was going to be the last normal morning of their lives. And then Matt put the phone on speaker and dropped it on the bed next to Patrick, following it down. “I put you on speaker, tell Patrick what you just said.”

 

“There were record execs in the crowd last night,” came Brie’s voice. “I _told_ you there would be. They were blown away. They said if you can do that with a little bit of push behind you, they want to know what you can do with a _producer_ and a _marketing budget_. They want to know how many more songs you have that you can give them.”

 

Matt grinned across at Patrick, so bright and open and happy, and Patrick already felt like the world was spinning faster than he wanted it to. “We just finished another one, just now, in this bed.”

 

“I don’t want to know details,” said Brie. “Let’s think about producers. Who do you want?”

 

“You think we’re going to get to demand the producer of our choice?” asked Patrick, surprised.

 

“No, I think you ask for the moon and then they give you stars,” said Brie.

 

“Brie, that is literally the first thing you’ve ever said to me that actually makes sense,” said Matt. “We’re leaving late today. Tell Anna and David. Trick and I are celebrating.”

 

“I don’t want to know details,” Brie said again, and hung up.

 

Matt tackled Patrick with a gleeful bounce that took Patrick’s breath away. “Patrick, darling,” he said into his open mouth, “I really can’t believe our luck.”

 

“Really?” Patrick said, catching Matt’s head to keep him from kissing him too hard. “You want to give the record label _Luck_?”

 

Matt looked quizzical. “Patrick, it’s, like, the best song we’ve ever written. Don’t you think so? If they thought _Lose My Head_ was good, they’re going to be astonished.”

 

_It’s our song_ , Patrick thought, and didn’t say.

 

He never said it.

 

***

 

“Brie turned out to be really good,” Matt was saying, telling their overnight success story with the casualness of history, like he was reading off their Wikipedia entry. He could do this in his sleep. He remembered it vividly, like it was yesterday, every crystalline detail of that first meeting, of standing there and having people look at him and say, _Everyone is going to know your name. Get ready, kid_. He hadn’t been ready, it turned out, but who could have been? He had done the best job he could.

 

And he could still remember thinking it sounded like the most amazing thing in the universe, the culmination of a thing Matt had wanted his whole life. “I mean, Lilah was no slouch, but Brie was right about the producers. She went to them with this list we sat and made of five dream producers, and we didn’t get them, but I feel like it gave the music label an idea of what we were thinking, of the sound we wanted, it made us more _us_ from the very beginning, I think.” Matt looked at Patrick. “Don’t you think?”

 

Patrick looked like he was miles away. He did not look like he was reliving the astonishing moment when their dreams came true.

 

“Patrick,” Matt said, and Patrick’s eyes shifted to him, vague and distracted, which was almost _never_ how he looked at Matt.

 

“Yeah,” he said.

 

Matt studied him, then said slowly, “Maybe that’s enough for today.”

 

Patrick shook his head. “What are you up to? I can tell more of this story, you can rest your voice, sorry, I’ve let you run away with it.”

 

“No,” Anna said, clearly catching that Patrick was off, “that’s okay, we can take a break.”

 

Patrick took his mic off immediately, and stood up and said, “Probably you need hot water. I’ll find you hot water.”

 

Matt stared after him as he left, then looked at Anna.

 

Anna said, “This was maybe a bad idea. This felt rough today.”

 

Matt took a deep breath. Matt said, “That’s because this is where the end begins.”

 

***

 

Matt found Patrick playing the piano on the stage. It was _Luck_ , a furious, driving version of it, and the sound crashed over Matt as he stepped out onto it. There were stagehands getting things ready, but none of them were stopping Patrick from playing, which Matt was glad about, because Patrick was playing like he needed it.

 

Matt waited until the song was done before he sat next to him.

 

Patrick said nothing. He was breathing harshly, staring at the keys.

 

And Matt said something he’d realized ages ago, that he wished he’d realized much longer ago than that. He said, “It was our song. I shouldn’t have touched it. I shouldn’t have given it to the world. I’m sorry I did that.”

 

“Matt,” Patrick said, looking at the piano, and his voice was unsteady. “I feel like I kind of need you right now.”

 

“I’m right here,” Matt replied evenly. Because he _was_.

 

Patrick laughed harshly. “So are a lot of other people.”

 

“Who gives a fuck?” asked Matt.

 

Patrick looked at him then. “You used to.”

 

“It was stupid of me, Patrick. I was a kid, and I was an idiot, and I did it wrong, I did _so much_ wrong. I thought they were giving me everything I ever wanted, because it had never occurred to me—I had never even dared to imagine—that I could have had _you_. In my future, this future I imagined for myself, this future I was working for with every breath I was taking, I didn’t think there was going to be another _person_. It was going to be me, on my own, the whole time. It didn’t occur to me to…to…to _make space_ for you. Even though I wanted to. Even though the whole time, Patrick, I wanted you more than anything else, more than the music, more than the fame, more than the Grammy, more than arenas who knew every word, more than every single stranger who said that they loved me, the only one I wanted was you, but I fucked it up, a million times, a billion ways, over and over. I did the fame and fortune right, because that’s what I’d dreamed of, that’s what I’d imagined, that’s what I’d planned for, but I did everything wrong with you. Everything I could have done. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I did this to us.”

 

Patrick shook his head, looking exhausted, looking achingly sad. “It wasn’t just you. I knew. I knew that very night. That night they sang the song back to us. That night I said I loved you. I said it knowing that I needed to steal that one sliver of time, because I was about to lose you. I should have said that out loud, that I needed a piece of you to keep, a piece of you in my pocket, a piece of you that wasn’t the rest of the world’s. But I felt like I was being selfish. You were on the cusp of everything you’d been working so hard for, and I was going to muddle that for you? I didn’t say anything because I thought I’d be able to handle it. See, you did the fame and fortune right, and I was so bad at it, there were nights I was on stage with you and you seemed like you were on the other side of the fucking _world_ , I couldn’t reach you, I couldn’t touch you. It wasn’t always, it wasn’t right away, in the beginning it was fine, but that entire last tour, the Charm Offensive Tour, I missed you every night. And you were right there. It was awful. I was dying. And I was trying to tell you and… It was awful.”

 

“And then I made you go out on tour again,” Matt realized suddenly. “Fuck. I made it up with you and then I did this to us again.”

 

Patrick shook his head. “No. This tour has been fantastic. It wasn’t the tour. It was… It wasn’t this. This has been… This tour has been _amazing_. I cannot thank you enough for this tour. Every night has been spectacular. It’s been so good I worry about coming back down to earth.” Patrick choked out a laugh. “Christ, Matt, I want to _stop worrying_ , I told you to stop worrying weeks ago on that beach and I can’t take my own advice, I love you so much more now than I ever did and I keep thinking that I don’t know how I would—”

 

“Hey,” Matt said firmly, because Patrick was spiraling and needed to be stopped. He caught his hands into Patrick’s collar to force him to look at him. “You survived me last time. You survived me and went on to have four astonishing kids. So you kind of thrived. I know it wasn’t easy. Trust me, I know. But you survived, and if you had to do it again, you would. But it isn’t happening again. It’s not happening again. This isn’t how the world works, Patrick. You can throw your soulmate away one time, when you’re young and stupid and don’t realize the value, but you don’t do it a second time. Stop worrying. Every time you worry, come to me, and I will sing in your ear. I will sing you our song. You’re a four-leaf clover. An impossible joy I’ve found—”

 

Patrick cut him off by burrowing into him, tight and fierce, his face pressed into the curve of his shoulder.

 

Matt leaned his head down and whispered into Patrick’s ear, “I can’t believe my luck.”

 

Patrick clung to him and took a deep, shaky breath. “I don’t want to do the documentary anymore.”

 

“I’ll talk to Anna.”

 

“You’re not going to tell me that I should finish it because it would be good therapy?”

 

“No,” Matt said. “Therapy happens with a professional. Anna’s making a movie. That’s a completely different thing.”

 

“Thank you,” Patrick said, still holding on tight.

 

Matt said, “This is my job, you know. This is _way more_ my job than anything else in my life. My job is to make your life better.”

 

“On a different day I’m going to take issue with that,” Patrick said, “because you should be worrying about your life, too, but right now I’m okay if you want to pretend it’s all about me.”

 

Matt held him and thought and thought. He thought of Patrick, fifteen years ago, in a series of conversations that blended all together in his memory, saying, _I don’t know why we’re a secret. I don’t remember anymore. I don’t want to be. I want for me to be yours and for you to be mine and for us not to have to pretend we’re into groupies._ He thought of Patrick now, wanting desperately to be held and holding back because they were surrounded by stagehands, because Matt, in those series of conversations fifteen years ago, had always said, _Why would we do that? What’s the point? We’ve got a sophomore album that blew our freshman album out of the water, and you want to mess with that success by turning the focus away from the music and onto us?_

 

Matt cursed himself, so much, for the things he’d said in fifteen years ago. He _got_ it now, that there was something about this secrecy that ate away at you. He got why Patrick had been so unhappy, had wanted to be done with watching whether they held hands in public, or cuddled, or kissed. He got why Patrick had wanted to just have a _relationship_. Matt had made them famous and deprived Patrick of that simple thing he’d craved: a boyfriend holding his hand in public, a ring on his finger.

 

“Patrick,” Matt said hoarsely, “we can tell everyone in the universe about us if you want. All in, right? We can shout it from the rooftops. We can be public in every way you wanted.”

 

“I don’t want to issue some kind of PR statement,” Patrick said wearily. “I don’t want to… I don’t want to do that. Can we not do that right now? Can we just keep doing what we’ve been doing? Let’s just… Can we just not worry? I don’t want to worry about it.”

 

Matt didn’t want to issue a PR statement, either. Matt also wanted to stop worrying, stop worrying about touching him, stop worrying about his expressive eyes and the way he looked at Patrick. But he could hear, in the taut quality to Patrick’s voice, that Patrick was at the end of his rope at the moment, raw and exhausted.

 

So Matt dropped it. “Yes,” he said, and smoothed a hand over Patrick’s hair, and let him breathe. “We can do whatever you want.”

 

***

 

Matt let Patrick cuddle as long as he needed, glaring daggers at anyone who looked like they might want to disturb them. Eventually Patrick sat back and tried to apologize and Matt refused to let him. Instead he left him in the dressing room with everyone and went back to where Anna had been filming. The cameraperson was still there, although they and Anna seemed to be just hanging out, and Anna looked at Matt curiously when he came in.

 

“We need to stop,” Matt said without preamble.

 

“Yeah,” Anna replied thoughtfully. “The look on Patrick’s face made me suspect that.”

 

“I think we both thought we could do this without reliving it. And I’m not sure we can. And I’m not making him relive _that_.”

 

“You shouldn’t have to relive it either,” Anna pointed out. “He wasn’t the only one who got his heart broken.”

 

“It was the stupidest thing,” Matt said suddenly. “It was the _stupidest fucking thing_ , how someone can give you everything we had on a silver platter, and we managed to—I want to film.”

 

“What?” Anna blinked at him.

 

“I want to film. I have things to say.” Matt sat in the seat he’d been in earlier. This was a spur of the moment decision but it felt _right_. There was so, so much to get out of his head, he needed to _shut it up_.

 

“Okay,” Anna said, springing into motion, glancing at the cameraperson, who pulled the camera into place, and Anna got the mic out and let Matt attach it to his collar.

 

Matt felt like he was visibly vibrating, thrumming with energy. “I don’t know if you’re going to be able to use any of this,” he warned.

 

Anna shook her head. “I was never using anything without your approval anyway.”

 

“So,” Matt said, looking straight at the camera. “Here are a bunch of things Matt Usher has avoided saying for the past twenty years. Fuck. Here are a bunch of things Matt Usher hasn’t said _for his entire life_. I mean, okay, we can start with the things everyone knows and we just haven’t said out loud. For instance, Patrick Reed is a better musician than I am. He writes better music, he plays better instruments. I don’t know if he’s a better singer—sorry, Trick, maybe I’ll take that one thing—but he didn’t want to be the frontman, so I took the job, which I was very happy to do, because I like attention, and because I have been spending my entire life trying to get people to notice that I was something worthwhile, something _worth_ the attention, and a thing I learned is that, like, it’s _great_ to have an entire crowd singing along with you, to have strangers come up to you and tell you that you changed their life, I love everything about every one of our fans, honestly, I love every single one of you, but a thing I didn’t realize when I was a lonely kid who wanted to be loved was that this possibility existed that you could find a _person_ who would love you, that it wasn’t just that you had to go to nameless crowds for that.

 

“My parents didn’t love me. Wait, scratch that, I guess I don’t know if they did or didn’t. But they didn’t _act_ like it. They didn’t make me _feel_ loved. I don’t know what my father’s problem was but my mother was an addict, and I know it’s a disease like any other, and it robbed me of her, but it’s this insidious kind of disease that makes you feel like there should be _fault_ apportioned, like it’s your fault or their fault and… I was terrified of losing anyone else I loved to addiction, including myself, so I was always so… And I just want to say that if this disease is part of your life, please get help, no matter if you’re the addict or the loved one of the addict, because it’s too much for you do on your own, please don’t try. You’re not alone. You’re not. At the very _least_ , I have a Twitter account and I’m on the other end of it.

 

“And if that’s how you feel, if you’re growing up feeling alone and lonely and unloved, don’t let anyone tell you that doesn’t matter. It matters _so much_ , I know how you feel, I know you feel it deep in your core, and I’m here to tell you that this isn’t you, it’s _them_ , you are a lovable person who _deserves_ to be loved, and if I’m the first person you hear telling you that, then I’ve finally done something useful with being famous. Tweet me and ask me and I will tell you over and over how much you’re loved, how much the world needs you. I used to think that I wanted to give the world music, but now I think I should maybe be giving the world _this_.

 

“I feel like I haven’t seized that. People have wanted things from me, all along. _You_ wanted things from me, and the record label wanted things from me, and Patrick wanted things from me, and I kept thinking, the whole time, that if I could keep juggling long enough, I could get away with not giving any of you any of it, without committing, that maybe you would all just not notice how much I kept sliding to the side instead of hitting things head-on. I’m sorry for that. Here’s me hitting it head-on. For every one of you kids who grew up like me, tossed around foster homes, I’m sorry I didn’t say much earlier that I hear you on that. That I’m here. That I’ll keep hearing you if you’ll keep talking to me.

 

“Another thing that I should have been more upfront about and I never was, but I have no fucking idea what label I would apply to my sexuality. I have never known. I have always been confused that other people seem to _know_. I thought that disqualified me from acting like some kind of spokesperson, which I know some of you desperately wanted from me at points, for me to step up and own the fact that whatever I am, it’s definitely not straight. So. I’m sorry about that. Because I think maybe it is valuable to have someone stand up and say: Fuck all the labels. Don’t worry about them. Fall in love with whoever you fall in love with and just, like… Just…”

 

Matt paused. He took a deep breath.

 

“We’ve been lying, Patrick and I, in every single one of these interviews we’ve given. We’ve talked around the fact that this is what happened the night we met: He sang on a stage, this song about longing, and I fell in love so hard and so fast that I’ve never put myself entirely back together again. I fell all over myself trying to convince him he should give me the time of day. I persuaded him to write a song with me. I went to his room that night and I didn’t come out for…years. It felt to me like I didn’t leave Patrick’s bed for years. And then when I did, when I did we had songs on the radio, we had Grammy nominations, we had tours where all of you knew all of our songs, and they had been _our_ songs, and they were yours now, and I don’t regret that, not really, but I regret that I…that I stepped away from him. That I let myself think that this thing I’d wanted for so long, this Matt Usher Swan thing, was still the thing I wanted. When it wasn’t. I wanted him. I didn’t know it was possible for a person to love anyone the way he loved me. I did such a terrible job with it. I did such a _terrible_ job with it. And I also didn’t know it was possible for me to love anyone the way I loved him. It was such a lot. It was such a _lot_ , and we were _kids_ , and we made all of this beautiful music together and we thought that would be enough to keep us together. Or maybe I just thought that. I don’t know.

 

“I thought Patrick wouldn’t notice, if I kept juggling hard enough, how little I was committing. And I can’t even… I don’t even… I have no idea what I was thinking. I don’t think I _was_. I think the rush of Swan was like this tidal wave approaching, I could hear it, and I was running flat-out to get to higher ground, to be able to survive it when it finally crashed over me, but the truth is… The truth is it wasn’t Swan I was outrunning, it was… It was everything I hadn’t been dealing with for all of my life. It was all this stuff I’m telling all of you now.

 

“So here it is. For what it’s worth. For all you Mattrick people who always wondered. And for Patrick.” Matt looked at the camera and smiled and said, “Patrick. Darling. I don’t know why I ever asked you to play coy. I don’t know why I thought either of us could do that. I’m so sorry, my love. You’re the love of my life, you have been all along, I don’t know how to tell you, I’ll probably put it in a song. I’m not good at methods of communicating that don’t have a key and a time signature. I’m sorry for everything we both did. I’m sorry that we took this golden thing and didn’t know how to keep it precious and safe. But I… I want the rest of infinity with you, Patrick. I want everything I can give you and everything you can give me. I should have told you fifteen years ago. I should never have let you walk out the door. But you know that. I love you. Someday I’ll just stand on a stage and say it. Someday we’ll both be brave enough just to do it. But until then: You have my heart, and my soul, and every note I will ever sing. It’s always been yours, it always will be. Forever.”

 

***

 

Patrick was sitting watching his oldest daughter chatting with the lead singer of a rock band, and trying to quell the impulse within him to tell her that was completely inappropriate. This was an oddly welcome distraction.

 

Matt sat next to him, close up against him.

 

Patrick said, without looking away from Kylie and their opening act, “Should I be worried about that?” It was a cowardly way to open this conversation, but he really wanted to ease into it.

 

Matt let him. “Well,” he said thoughtfully. “Yes, in that lead singers of bands are basically irresistible.”

 

“Uh-huh,” said Patrick drily.

 

“No, in that she’s thirteen.”

 

Patrick gave him a look. “She notices boys, Matt. She’s a teenager. This is a thing we’re going to have to deal with.”

 

“So we will. But I don’t think you have to worry about Sean.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because he’s a good kid who’s just being nice to your thirteen-year-old.”

 

Patrick lifted his eyebrows. “Suddenly you like Sean? You hated our opening act, remember? You wanted to give them a loyalty test.”

 

Matt shrugged. “I ran into him when I was sneaking away to write your song. He’s not bad. He’s a really big Swan fan.”

 

“So naturally you are taken with him now,” Patrick concluded.

 

“I can’t help it if people want to learn from me. I am an excellent mentor, Emily Nussbaum said so. And. You’ve got to trust Kylie as much as you can trust a thirteen-year-old. And then you’ve got to hope the grown-ups around her do their job. That’s the riskier part, but I don’t think Sean’s who you’ve got to worry about. Especially since I have never seen a tour with so many built-in cockblockers. We’ve managed to fuck backstage on this tour, like, once.”

 

“Life is tough,” Patrick said with a smile.

 

“Fuckin’ A,” said Matt, and then carefully, “You okay?”

 

Patrick had thought it was kind of nice they were having a regular conversation and ignoring his breakdown but he also had to admit that they couldn’t just do that anymore. “Yes,” he said firmly, because he was. He felt steadier, more grounded, more _certain_. “Are you? Where did you disappear to?”

 

“I went to tell Anna we can’t do the documentary anymore. And then I did a bit of therapy, I think. It was good.”

 

“What did Anna say about the documentary?”

 

“That it’s fine.”

 

“That it was obvious I was having a panic attack at having to go over every mistake we made?” Patrick corrected him ruefully.

 

Matt looked at him and said softly, with an aching amount of regret, “I wish you’d told me. I wish you’d told me how you’d felt.”

 

“I want to tell you now,” Patrick said, taking a deep breath and shifting to face him more fully. “I want to write an album with you.”

 

Matt blinked. “Wait, really?”

 

“It wasn’t about the songs being released, Matt. I’m happy people sing every word to _Luck_. You wrote me _Syllepsis_ and my very first thought was we should have that out there in the world. I’ve never wanted to hide us. You talk through music. I kept saying I wanted us to be public, and you didn’t get what I was saying, because you were thinking we _were_ public, because every love song we’d ever written each other was out there climbing the charts. Let’s not be at cross-purposes anymore. Let’s speak each other’s love languages. Let’s write an album that blows people away. Let’s be Mattrick.”

 

Matt blinked again, a sheen over his eyes, and then he said, “That was good therapy-deduction, Patrick.”

 

“Everything you’ve ever wanted to really tell me, you put into a song. And in the bad times that annoyed me. Why doesn’t he just talk to me? I would wonder. But you _were_ talking to me. You wanted to write a million songs. Let’s do it.”

 

“We should talk to Brie and Lilah,” Matt said. His grin was ear-to-ear, his eyes were _shining_ with joy.

 

The way to Matt Usher’s heart, Patrick thought, was always through music. Patrick carded a hand through his hair and then kissed his temple, because he wanted to, and he could. He said, “We should talk to Anna and David first.”

 

“Yeah,” Matt said, and nodded. “Yeah, right, of course.”

 

“Hey.” Hailey squirmed up in between them, completely heedless of interrupting anything, with the blissful self-absorption of childhood. “My iPad’s dead, can I borrow a phone?”

 

***

 

Matt had been trying to go easy on his voice for a while now. It wasn’t that he was in _pain_ , it wasn’t anything so straightforward as a sore throat, it was just a feeling of weariness. He hadn’t asked much of his voice in a decade. He hadn’t been taking the best care of it. It hadn’t been his moneymaker for a while. And now he was in the middle of a tour and asking a lot of it and it was a little late to be trying to coddle it, and also he was fifteen years older than he had been when they originally wrote these songs, so there were a couple of notes that didn’t come with the ease they used to. He’d been trying to balance, trying not to strain anything, trying to take it as easy as he could while simultaneously pushing himself. They were so close to the end now. There were only a handful of cities left. The finish line was in sight.

 

So of course he had woken up that morning feeling worse than he had the entire tour, feeling almost genuinely sick with the rawness of his throat, and liberal application of hot water with lemon and honey under Patrick’s suspicious gaze had kept it at bay, but then he had gone off on a raging soliloquy at Anna’s cameras, which was more talking than he’d done at once in a while, because he’d been _watching_ himself.

 

Matt started the concert in Minneapolis thinking, _Just get me through the next two hours_. He had no idea what would happen after that. He thought maybe he’d just…sleep. Maybe he’d wake up feeling much better, and it would be fine.

 

He didn’t belt out the beginning of _Wild Ride_ as much as he usually did, keeping his voice in check. He was hoping that by singing a little more softly than he usually did, by doing less shouting into the raucous audience, he could coax his voice to last long enough to get them through it.

 

But Swan didn’t give a show without talking. Matt Usher always talked to his audiences. He knew he was _known_ for it. He knew part of what everyone was paying for was the individualized attention of Matt Usher, for a little bit of flirting, for some Mattrick banter. Matt tried to keep it minimal but he felt guilty about it. These people had paid a lot of money for these tickets. They deserved a _show_.

 

He knew he wasn’t fooling Patrick for a second. He knew that Patrick, who was so attuned to his voice, had been on high alert from the first notes of _Wild Ride_. By the time they hit _Lose My Head_ , Matt was pell-mell abandoning notes, letting himself slide off of them, trying to find a range he could meet. He could feel Patrick’s eyes on him, unrelenting, watching this happen in what felt to Matt like slow-motion. He’d never had a single vocal issue before in his career, and he had no idea what he was supposed to be doing.

 

Apparently _everyone_ in his band was watching him crumble in slow motion, because David suddenly showed up at his elbow with a steaming mug of hot water with honey and lemon, as the song wrapped up.

 

_Fuck_ , thought Matt, he was _obvious_.

 

Patrick said into his microphone, “Minneapolis!” This was not ordinarily Patrick’s job, but the crowd responded warmly to him, and Matt was grateful for it, stepping away from the microphone, testing the temperature of the water, which wasn’t too hot that he couldn’t sip it but was hot enough to feel soothing. “Ordinarily this is the part of the concert where Matt says something really annoyingly double entendre-ish to all of you, some kind of terrible line, I mean, he has a profusion of terrible lines, right?” The crowd was laughing and applauding and Matt sent Patrick a wry look over his mug of hot water.

 

Patrick winked at him. Then he turned back to the crowd and said, “His lines are so terrible because he saves all the best ones for the songs. Who among us has been able to resist Matt Usher in a song? I know I can’t.”

 

There was an _awww_ from the crowd, and Patrick smiled over at Matt, who took one last sip of his hot water before stepping back up to the mic and adjusting his guitar.

 

“That was very sweet of you, Trick,” he said, falling into his role.

 

“I try sometimes,” Patrick replied. “How are we doing?” Matt knew he meant _How are you doing?_

 

Matt said casually, “Fine,” and then made the mistake of raising his voice to call to the crowd, “How are we doing, Minneapolis?” He winced, and the crowd cheered wildly, and Matt cleared his throat and thought, _Fuck it_ , they were almost done, he could definitely do this. He said, “Let’s fall in love by way of a song,” and after a moment Patrick took his cue and started playing.

 

Really, Matt did fine fudging his way through the next couple of songs, but then they hit _Forever_ , and he hit the wall. The verses of _Forever_ were crowded with words and he could get through them by barely singing at all, but the chorus was fucking _soaring_ , and his voice was going to have to climb its way up there, and he got to it and realized there was no way. There was just no way. He was scrambling to think of a way to modify it downward, when he was startled by Patrick’s voice breaking in.

 

“And you,” Patrick sang, and the crowd went _wild_ , almost drowning Patrick out, “forever too good for me.” Matt looked at him in surprise. Patrick, his eyes steady on him, kept playing and kept singing, “And you, forever out of my league.”

 

Matt stared at him, at this song in Patrick’s voice, and he’d heard him sing it before, that day in the very beginning at Patrick’s house, and he hadn’t been able to handle it then, either. It took him almost the entire chorus before he thought to start playing his guitar again, because he was just standing there staring at Patrick.

 

He joined Patrick for the verses, because he could, and it wasn’t like they’d ever rehearsed this but it was good, Matt thought. It was a good version of the song. They should have thought to do this long ago.

 

By the time Patrick closed his eyes and crooned into the silence at the end of the song, “Forever,” the crowd seemed delirious.

 

Which Matt was happy about, because he didn’t think he was going to be able to get them through _Luck_.

 

Patrick didn’t even acknowledge the overwhelming applause. He lifted an eyebrow at Matt in inquiry.

 

Matt said into his microphone, “I am going to leave you in Patrick’s capable hands for a second, he will take very good care of you and I will be right back.”

 

He hadn’t ducked off stage during _Trick Up Your Sleeve_ the entire tour, and it felt odd now to be backstage while he could hear Patrick barreling his way through the opening chord sequence.

 

Rachel was on him immediately. “What is going on?”

 

“Don’t make me talk,” Matt snapped, and went for water because it was the only thing that he could think to do. Then he paced around and considered his options, while Patrick drew _Trick Up Your Sleeve_ out, adding an extra crowd-participation chorus. He had to go back out, he couldn’t just _disappear_ , and it didn’t matter how long it took, his voice wasn’t going to magically come back while he stood there debating.

 

So Matt took a deep breath and bounded back onto the stage with a concerted effort at energy, hoping he looked light and bouncy instead of tired and worried. The crowd was being utterly fantastic, as they had been all night, and the arena’s lights were throbbing in time to the _Luck_ intro, which Anna and David were playing behind him.

 

“Okay,” Matt said. “You have been a spectacular audience, so I hate to do this to you, but I am going to need some help on this one. Do you know it? It’s a little song called _Luck_.”

 

The crowd roared confirmation that they knew the song.

 

“Sing along,” Matt said, as he settled his fingers on his guitar strings. “Sometimes a band really needs its fans.”

 

The wave of sound off the crowd made Matt take an involuntary step back. When he got back to the microphone to say more than sing, “Can we talk about,” the crowd sang the rest of the line for him, and the next line, and the line after that. It was like being at that concert all those years ago, the crowd singing every line of _Lose My Head_ , and Matt felt as dazed as he had the first time. It never stopped being extraordinary, standing up in front of a crowd while they sang your song to you, while they told you, _We heard this song you wrote, we heard what you said to us, we loved it so much we memorized every word of it and now we’re giving it back to you, we will stand in this crowd and make your music, all of us together, because that’s how much we love you_.

 

Matt played his guitar with them, and the crowd sang and sang, and when the song was done, Matt couldn’t think what to do, except to put his hand over his heart and bow, heartfelt and sincere.

 

The lights went out, and he went over to Patrick, who leaned over as if to speak to him, but Matt played the _Heart and Soul_ chords because this crowd deserved that ending, the fans had been talking it up online, they loved this final little moment.

 

As he’d thought, cheers swelled up at it. Patrick played his part, then said into the microphone, “Good night, Minneapolis!”

 

And then the mics shut off, which meant Patrick could turn to him and say, “ _Matt_.”

 

“I thought I was fine,” Matt said in his defense.

 

“Don’t talk,” Patrick said. “Do not _talk_. We’re going to get you a doctor and until we hear from this doctor, you’re not saying a word.”

 

“Pat—”

 

Patrick put a finger on his lips. “I am serious, Matt.”

 

“What the hell?” Anna asked, coming over to them.

 

“You okay?” David asked in concern.

 

Matt nodded fervently.

 

Rachel had come out to the stage, too, just to make all of this _perfect_.

 

“Find him a specialist,” Patrick commanded.

 

“Already done,” Rachel said.

 

***

 

Matt was sitting up in their bed in their hotel suite, still dressed in his concert clothes, so he was a gross, sweaty mess, and the most mutinous patient Patrick had ever seen. He glared at everyone with fury flashing in those expressive eyes. Patrick hadn’t seen Matt truly angry many times in their lives, and every one of those instances was emblazoned in his memory. This one was now, too, Patrick thought.

 

The girls had initially followed them into the bedroom, because they didn’t usually bring such an entourage home with them and they were clearly fascinated, but Patrick had shooed them out of the room. When the doctor had arrived, Matt, gesturing wildly but staying silent, had demanded Patrick remove Rachel as well, and Patrick was okay with that, because Matt was furious because Matt was terrified, Matt had always stepped up to a microphone and had the notes he wanted come out of his mouth, so Patrick was okay with not forcing Matt to be that vulnerable in front of Rachel.

 

“You should leave, too, Mr. Reed,” the doctor said, but Matt shook his head sharply, so Patrick leaned up against the door and said, “I’m not leaving.”

 

After a moment the doctor shrugged and went through his examination. Matt complied sulkily, glaring at Patrick at every given opportunity, as if he blamed Patrick for this entire situation. Patrick knew he really blamed himself, knew he was glaring so much at Patrick because he wanted him nearer to him for support, wanted him on the _bed_ with him, but Patrick wasn’t getting in the way of the medical professional.

 

Eventually the doctor said, “Your throat’s a little inflamed.”

 

“How do we fix it?” Matt demanded.

 

“You shouldn’t talk,” the doctor told him, and looked at Patrick. “He shouldn’t talk. For at least a day.”

 

Patrick nodded.

 

“Drink plenty of fluids. Hydration is important,” the doctor continued. “A couple of steam treatments could help. Honestly, it’s not bad. It will recover fully on its own. Just give it a break.”

 

It was good news, Patrick thought. The best news they could have gotten. “Thank you, doctor,” he said, and showed the doctor out.

 

Rachel and the girls looked at him from the living room.

 

“One second,” he told them, and closed the door again and walked back over to the bed.

 

Matt had slumped down to sprawl on his back and was now glowering at the ceiling.

 

“Wow,” said Patrick, thinking maybe he needed to lighten things. “Is it going to be so deliciously _quiet_ around here for the next day or so?”

 

Matt frowned at him.

 

Okay, so no mood-lightening. Patrick tried a smile and got onto the bed with him and said, “Matt. It’s okay. Okay?” He gathered him up.

 

But Matt was stiff and resistant. He reached for the notepad by the bed and scrawled on it, _We have concerts!!!_ He underlined “concerts” three times.

 

“Not tomorrow we don’t,” said Patrick. Part of him was relieved that Matt was obviously taking this seriously, but another part was worried that he was. Matt had to be _terrified_ not to be protesting the no-talking rule. “Matt.” He pressed his nose behind Matt’s ear. “This is not a big thing. You heard the doctor. You’re going to give it a rest and it’s going to come back.”

 

Matt ducked away from Patrick’s nuzzling, scribbling on the notepad before turning it back to Patrick. _I am my voice. Matt Usher = LEAD SINGER_.

 

Patrick read the note, then took the notepad and the pen out of Matt’s hand. He crossed out _LEAD SINGER_ and wrote instead _excellent person_. Matt rolled his eyes. Patrick kept writing.

_generous friend_

_amazing co-parent_

_talented pianist_

_incredible lyricist_

_messy hotel room inhabitant_

_poet, deep in his soul_

_hopeless romantic_

_devastating_

_love of my life_

 

Patrick looked at Matt. He’d practically filled up the page with his list. Matt’s eyes were on it, drinking it in.

 

“You’re all of these things with or without your voice. Not that it matters, because your voice is coming back. You’re going to be fine.”

 

Matt kept staring at the list, so Patrick added one more at the end.

 

_decent fuck_

 

Matt shoved at him, but there was a smile tugging at his lips, and then he turned to bury his head into Patrick’s chest.

 

“You’re okay,” Patrick promised him, kissing his head, thinking they would start to believe it if he said it enough. “It’s all going to be okay. Do you want to talk to Rachel?”

 

Matt shook his head.

 

“Okay. I’ll get her to leave.”

 

Patrick went to extricate himself but Matt looked up and picked up the notebook and flipped to the next page, where he wrote _Send in the kids_.

 

“You don’t have to—” Patrick began.

 

But Matt nodded and nodded, so Patrick nodded back. “Okay. I’ll send them in.” He kissed Matt’s cheek and got off the bed to go into the next room.

 

Where he was met immediately by the three girls, and Bach. Rachel hung back, sitting on the couch.

 

“How’s Matt?” Miranda asked matter-of-factly, like she was a news reporter. “What does the doctor say of his condition?”

 

Patrick smiled. “He’s fine. He can’t talk for a day, so we get to decipher his terrible handwriting. He wants to see the three of you.” He gestured behind him to the bedroom, and the girls and Bach ran through it.

 

***

 

“What _happened_?” Hailey demanded, jumping on the bed with him without the slightest compunction.

 

The girls looked worried but also they looked frankly upbeat, full of a positive energy Matt felt he was missing. He was _so_ happy to see them, he wanted to bundle all of them up in tight embarrassing hugs.

 

He wrote in his notebook, _Too much singing_.

 

“So you can’t talk _at all_?” Miranda clarified.

 

Matt shrugged.

 

Kylie said, “This shouldn’t be a big deal. You can just text all of us. Like, talking’s way overrated.”

 

Matt didn’t know how to respond to that, so he shrugged again.

 

“Are we going to have to cancel the rest of the tour?” asked Miranda.

 

“Oh, my God,” said Kylie, stricken. “I hope not! Are we?”

 

Miranda rolled her eyes and said to Matt, “This is all about Sean.”

 

Kylie went beet red because of Reed genetics and hissed, “No, it’s not, stop it.”

 

Matt, under the theory that no teenager wanted to date someone her parents approved of, wrote, _Sean is hot_.

 

Kylie stared at him in horror.

 

Hailey giggled and said, “ _Matt_.”

 

Matt kept writing. _Lead singers are generally hot._

 

“Oh, my _God_ ,” said Kylie.

 

Matt kept writing. _It’s a Reed thing, you know. Having a thing for lead singers. Should I tell you what works on lead singers?_

 

“ _No_ ,” said Kylie. “Oh, my God, if you _keep writing_ things I am going to have to _die_. You’re supposed to be the _cool_ parent. This is a _betrayal_.”

 

_I’m sick_ , wrote Matt. _Be kind to me_.

 

“Ugh,” said Kylie, unimpressed.

 

“Your voice is going to come back, though,” Hailey said confidently. “Right?”

 

Matt nodded. He found it much easier to believe this when he had to reassure the girls of it. He wrote, _We’re not canceling the tour_.

 

Miranda said, “This is all very dramatic.”

 

_I plan to milk it for dramatic effect_ , Matt confirmed.

 

“That’s smart,” said Kylie, making room for herself on the bed. Bach and Miranda had settled in as well so it was getting crowded. “Can I say something Sean said and not have you be gross about it?”

 

Matt smiled and wrote, _I’m sorry I like Sean_.

 

“Whatever,” said Kylie. “He says to make sure you don’t drink any alcohol. He had this happen to him and he made it worse because he went to a party anyway.”

 

_My party days are long over_ , Matt wrote.

 

“Sean, you know, thinks you’re a _genius_ ,” Kylie announced. “He says you taught him how to be a lead singer in a rock band. _For that reason_.” Kylie fixed him with a look. “You should be really nice to me about Sean.”

 

Matt grinned at her and wrote, _I was really nice to you about Sean!_

 

Kylie narrowed her eyes.

 

“Can we stop talking about Sean for, like, two seconds?” Miranda demanded in exasperation.

 

“Oh, my _God_ ,” said Kylie, and flopped backward onto the bed.

 

And Matt, with sudden startling clarity, was so happy he wasn’t alone, so happy he wasn’t _alone_ , he was fearful for a moment he might actually burst into tears, which surely wouldn’t help his throat. He knew this was why he’d told Patrick to send the kids in but it was so potent all at once, being Matt Usher and not being alone.

 

He wrote, _Tell me what you want to do in Denver_ , because the kids had started writing out itineraries for every city.

 

And that got the kids talking.

 

And Matt sat and listened and _wasn’t alone_.

 

***

 

Rachel rose off the couch and said drily, “I’m assuming he doesn’t want to see me.”

 

“He’s not in the best mood at the moment. Which is understandable. I think he’s always been a singer first.”

 

“The irony is I actually get this,” Rachel remarked. “This is probably the thing I get most of all, the thing that’s always been there for you suddenly not being there.”

 

“Yeah,” Patrick realized. “That’s true. Anyway. I’m shutting off our phones, because they’re going to be exploding and I don’t want him stressing out. I’ll text Anna and David but I’d appreciate if you could tell Lilah and Brie not to worry. The doctor said to rest his voice. Maybe we won’t even have to cancel any concerts. We’ll play it by ear and go to Denver tomorrow.”

 

Rachel nodded. “You know. I can’t decide if this will make things better or worse. But _People_ sent a mock-up of the interview spread.” Rachel reached into her bag and handed across a few glossy pages. “The issue will go live next week.”

 

Patrick looked at the cover mock-up on top. It was the photo Matt had arranged, Matt sitting backward on the piano bench, his elbows on the piano’s keyboard, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle. He looked louche and sinful, even with sunglasses covering his eyes, smoldering out at the camera, every inch of him inviting and seductive.

 

Patrick, behind him, was sitting up straight, a much more precise angle than Matt’s melting backwards into the piano, and he was looking straight at the camera, with one corner of his mouth tipped into a smile. Patrick always felt slightly like an idiot in photos with Matt, because Matt was good at photographs, knew how to position himself, how to draw people in, but this was one of the better photographs of the two of them Patrick had ever seen. Matt looked dark and devastating, and Patrick looked knowing and fond about it. Matt’s arrangement had been genius, because there was a connection between them in the photo that Patrick hadn’t expected to see, a link throbbing between them. Patrick’s eyes looked like they were saying, _He’s so hot, isn’t it so great, wouldn’t you love to know more about that?_ and Patrick would never have achieved that had Matt not distracted him by lounging next to him like that in the first place.

 

The headline read _Matt Usher & Patrick Reed: How the year’s most unexpected reunion hasn’t missed a beat_.

 

“This is good,” Patrick said, smiling at it, unexpectedly pleased by it. “This will distract him, thank you. Have you read it?”

 

Rachel nodded. “You should love it. You’re both ridiculously charming in it. If I didn’t know the two of you, I’d be a little in love.”

 

“We do really well getting people to love us who don’t know us very well,” said Patrick, laughing.

 

Rachel smiled. “I’m going to stay out of your way. I’m not _trying_ to make things hard, you know. If you need me, you can find me.”

 

Patrick nodded.

 

***

 

Patrick could hear the girls talking animatedly in the bedroom, so he let himself have a moment. He texted Anna and David with, _Matt’s not allowed to talk for at least a day, but should be fine_. Then he checked on Adam, listening to him breathe, and squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath himself. Matt was _fine_ , and that rising panic Patrick had been trying to keep dammed all concert could just _go away now_.

 

It wasn’t going to, he knew. It was going to spill out. He was going to have to get into bed and cuddle Matt close and say, _You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine_ , pretending he was comforting Matt, when he would definitely be comforting himself. He had simply never seen Matt in that state before. Matt had always been so bulletproof behind a microphone. Matt _lived_ there, Patrick had never seen anyone so naturally in his element on a stage, Matt looked forward to the stage as being a comforting escape. If Patrick was shaken by Matt opening his mouth and not having the notes to come out of it, he couldn’t even imagine how shaken Matt must be.

 

Which meant Patrick should stop hiding and go be a good boyfriend.

 

His phone buzzed with David’s response. _Is that something that’s possible? I never knew it was possible we could just ask him to stop talking_.

 

Anna’s response came in right after it. _So tomorrow is the day when we should all say the things we’ve never been able to get to say before because he monopolizes conversation?_

 

Patrick smiled and went to respond, and then two nearly simultaneous texts came in, David’s reading, _Tell him we hope he feels better_ , and Anna’s saying, _Tell him he’s going to be fine and back to sermonizing at all of us before we know it_.

 

Patrick texted back, _Done, thanks, I’m shutting off phones until tomorrow_ , and shut his phone down.

 

And then he went to the bedroom.

 

Matt was surrounded by three tween redheads and a puppy, and he looked tired but also happy, interested in what they were saying, hanging on their every word. They were talking about Denver, Patrick realized, and for a second he just leaned against the doorjamb and watched them and thought, _Yeah, I can’t believe my luck_.

 

Then Matt noticed him and lifted an eyebrow at him, so Patrick walked into the room and said, “Make way,” and playfully shoved Hailey over to get himself a sliver of space on the bed. Bach came bouncing over, joyous at this arrangement, and Patrick scratched behind her ears and said, “Is this the Denver itinerary? Is that what we’re discussing?”

 

The girls all said yes, and Matt nodded.

 

Patrick looked at Matt. “How ridiculous is it, on a scale of one to ten?”

 

Matt held up all ten fingers, followed by one finger, and Patrick laughed.

 

The girls protested loudly.

 

“It’s way better than Disney,” Miranda protested, affronted.

 

“We learn from past mistakes,” said Kylie, and Matt laughed.

 

Patrick said, “Well, nobody’s doing anything in Denver if we don’t get to sleep tonight. It is way past bedtime for everyone. The doctor said Matt needs to rest.”

“Then you should sleep really late tomorrow,” Hailey told Matt, and gave him a tight, fierce hug.

 

Miranda said, “If he wants to sleep late, he probably shouldn’t stay in the same suite as Adam,” and Patrick said, “I am offended on your brother’s behalf,” and then Miranda, who was always less demonstrably affectionate than her sisters, nevertheless kissed Matt’s cheek and said, “Feel better.”

 

Kylie gave him a warm hug, too, and Patrick was sitting close enough to them to hear her murmur into his ear, “You’ll be okay.”

 

Patrick, with a pang, thought, _No wonder Matt says she’s so much like me_.

 

Matt nodded against her and kissed her head, and then she straightened away from him.

 

“Take the dog with you,” Patrick said, but Bach was already chasing them out of the room.

 

Kylie closed the door on her way out, so Patrick kicked off his shoes and settled onto the bed. He should shower. They both should have showered. But Matt curled up close against him and Patrick didn’t want to disturb him. _Couldn’t_ disturb him, because he really wanted him close at the moment.

 

They breathed together, so oddly silent that Patrick felt a twinge of anxiety. Matt was just almost never quiet. Patrick already missed his voice, even though he was right here.

 

To distract himself, he picked up the notebook and read through what Matt had written on it. And then he started laughing. “Did Kylie want to kill you?”

 

Matt, smiling, nodded.

 

“Christ,” Patrick said, and kissed Matt’s head, feeling unbelievably fond. “What are your tips for picking up a lead singer?”

 

Matt wrote, _Be Patrick Reed_ , and Patrick smiled.

 

***

 

Matt knew he was supposed to be getting his rest.

 

Matt also knew there was no fucking way he was going to sleep.

 

Matt was a poor sleeper in the best circumstances. This was very far from the best circumstances. These were nightmarish circumstances. But it was fine, he could just lay here curled against Patrick and things felt bearable, as long as Patrick stayed right there. And Patrick was going to stay right there. Matt had no doubt.

 

Patrick said suddenly, “You’re being very loud, you know. You’re not saying a single word, and you’re still _so loud_. I can hear every thought in your head shouting in advanced panic.”

 

Apparently he wasn’t hiding his unease as much as he’d thought.

 

Matt wanted to demand what Patrick thought his options were, but Matt couldn’t talk, so Matt just tucked himself harder against Patrick because he didn’t want to be lectured about his poor coping mechanisms right now.

 

Patrick said, “Do you think you’re going to be able to fall asleep?”

 

Matt, at that, did tip his head back, just so he could fix a disbelieving stare on him.

 

Patrick chuckled. “Okay, yes, I get it.”

 

Matt huffed, displeased. Ordinarily, on nights when his head was whirring like this, Patrick shut it all up with sex, but Matt was strongly not in the mood to be ravished. And Patrick didn’t look like he was in the mood for ravishing. Patrick looked exhausted.

 

Matt reached for his notebook and wrote, _You can sleep. I’m fine_.

 

Patrick read it and then gave Matt a look. “Matt. Why do you think _I’m_ going to be able to sleep? Knowing you’re going to be fine and getting myself to believe it are two different things. Which I know you’re grappling with, too.”

 

Matt realized abruptly why Patrick looked so exhausted: He was worried about him. And Matt felt a little abashed at that. He didn’t _want_ Patrick to worry about him.

 

Matt wrote in his notebook, _I really am going to be fine. This whole thing is stupid. It’s a tiny throat issue_ , and showed it to Patrick.

 

Patrick, unexpectedly, started laughing. “ _Matt_ ,” he said, as Matt blinked at him in bewilderment. And then he flooded Matt’s face with kisses, sweet and sure. And then he leaned his forehead against his and said, “You don’t believe that for even a second, but I appreciate so much _you_ trying to make _me_ feel better.”

 

Matt made a tiny sound, because he couldn’t help it.

 

Patrick said, “Let’s take a shower. We’re disgusting, we should have done it earlier.”

 

Matt didn’t have a better idea, so he followed Patrick into the bathroom.

 

They had never showered together without sex being involved, and Matt thought it would just be awkward and uncomfortable, but actually it was just nice. Really unexpectedly soothing. Matt felt almost drowsy by the time Patrick shut the shower off. He didn’t think he would be able to sleep still, but he felt _better_.

 

Patrick said, “This bathroom’s full of steam. Sit in it for a bit, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

 

Matt lifted an eyebrow and glanced down.

 

“The surprise is not my penis,” said Patrick with a grin.

 

Matt made an _understandable mistake_ gesture.

 

Patrick laughed and kissed the tip of his nose and disappeared from the bathroom.

 

Matt was a little cold without the shower running and without Patrick, even though the bathroom _was_ steamy. He wrapped himself up in a couple of towels and sat on the bathroom floor. The suite was nice, and the bathroom had a window that looked out over the city. It would have been a nice window to fuck against, had Matt been in the mood.

 

Patrick came back into the bathroom dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. He dropped a matching outfit onto Matt’s lap, together with the notebook and pen.

 

Matt picked up the notebook and pen first and wrote, _We should fuck against windows more often_.

 

“We’re going to have to burn that notebook before my kids get their hands on it,” Patrick told him.

 

Matt chuckled and got dressed and then glanced with interest at the folder Patrick had been keeping out of his grasp.

 

“Ready?” Patrick said, and Matt nodded, and Patrick handed across the folder.

 

Matt pulled out the papers and looked at the cover of _People_ , with him sprawled over a piano bench, lounging sexily against the keyboard, and Patrick behind him, looking over him with a wry smile tipped onto his lips. There was something unspeakably sexy about the contrast between them, about the entire setup, like Matt had spread himself out like a feast and Patrick was sending a hot, knowing glance out at the camera before he devoured him. His breath caught in his throat as he looked at it.

 

“Do you like it?” asked Patrick. “I admit I kind of love it. I think I’d frame it and put it up in our house.”

 

_Our house_ , thought Matt. He smiled and picked up the notebook and wrote, _This is the best photograph of us ever taken._

 

“Mmm,” said Patrick noncommittally. “I have other favorites, personally.”

 

_The best professional photograph of us ever taken_, Matt amended.

 

“Agreed,” said Patrick immediately, which made Matt smile to think of all the other photos of them around, all the cuddled together selfies they’d taken in countless locales, Matt’s face so often half-turned into Patrick’s neck, murmuring in his ear, _I can’t believe our luck_. Matt agreed with Patrick: those were better, and those were _theirs_ , not for public consumption.

 

It occurred to Matt that he and Patrick never had productive conversations about the public nature of their relationship because they were so torn between shouting it from the rooftops and savoring the secret bits of it. There was a possibility this wasn’t capable of resolution, that they were just going to sit down and have a conversation about where to draw that line.

 

When Matt had a voice to have a conversation with, Matt thought.

 

_Have you read it_ , he wrote on the notebook.

 

Patrick shook his head and inched closer to Matt and said, “Let’s do it together.”

 

***

 

Probably a thing you’re not supposed to say to the sex symbols you’re about to interview is, “I had a poster of the two of you on my bedroom ceiling.” But I say it anyway.

 

Luckily for me, Matt Usher doesn’t even blink. People confessing lifelong crushes is all in a day’s work for him. He says evenly, “Which one?”

 

“The bicycle one,” I say, and he rolls his eyes, and Patrick Reed says, “Oh, God, with the daisies?” And that’s how our interview starts.

 

It was the one with the daisies. An utterly ridiculous poster of two mocking teenagers, joking around with battered old bicycles, Reed with a daisy in his hair, Usher peeking over the top of the sunglasses he was already known for. Usher says of the photo shoot, “They kept bringing us ever more ridiculous props. By the time we were handed bicycles, I told Patrick he should have a flower crown on, and then that was the photo that ended up going viral. Bedroom ceilings all over the country. Patrick was thrilled.”

 

Reed demurs on the point with a small smile, which, to anyone familiar with the Reed & Usher dynamic, is a frequent Reed response. Usher tends to be the talker. If you caught him on the singing competition sensation _Who Can Sing the Best?_ , then you know that he was famous for his cutting snark interspersed with bursts of passionate paragraphs. As the frontman of Swan, the band that originally propelled Usher and Reed to stardom, Usher’s stage presence is famous for being heavy on chatting between songs.

 

“I don’t think you have ever sung two songs back-to-back without pausing for at least one word in between,” Reed tells Usher, when I mention his penchant for stage chatting.

 

Usher looks thoughtful and allows, “Maybe.”

 

Reed mouths _yes_ to me.

 

And this is how it goes, as everyone who has seen Swan in concert knows: Usher talks, and Reed reacts, with a fond smile, or an eyeroll, or a rejoinder of his own. They are so famously known for their banter that their first album was called Banter & Badinage.

 

“That was more wishful thinking on my part,” Usher admits. “I wanted people to think we were this very clever and intellectual band, that the songs were witty and everything was flirtation. And then we were started performing, it was kind of natural for us to interact with the crowd, and because the album had called Banter, everyone kept calling it our stage banter.”

 

The stage banter made Swan a live act in high demand. Banter & Badinage elicited a string of hit singles, chief among them _Luck_ , a high-energy joyous ode to the wonder of falling in love that was a Song of the Year nominee. On the strength of the album’s success, the band toured extensively, and as their reputation for stage banter spread through the internet, their following continued to grow. By the time Swan won its Best New Artist Grammy, they were already riding a growing swell of opinion that they were a tremendous live act. Their Grammy performance of _Luck_ , which featured Reed and Usher playfully switching places on stage halfway through the song, Usher sliding behind Reed’s piano while Reed settled in behind Usher’s mic, still gets passed around on social media.

 

“There was so much pressure on that performance,” Usher says. “Everyone kept talking about what a great live act we were, but the Grammys wasn’t the kind of place where Patrick and I could flirt with each other easily. They wanted us to get up and sing a song. So I asked Patrick if he would switch places and be the frontman for one night, and Patrick agreed.”

 

“And then I never wanted to do it ever again,” Reed says. “It’s weird, when you’re part of a band, you really get used to your _place_ in that band. I trust Matt to do a great job as the life of the party, and I know that my role is to be the reactor. I watch him on stage. It was weird for him to be watching me, I felt tremendously thrown by it.”

 

“Yeah,” Usher agrees, “it _was_ weird. It’s funny to hear Patrick to say it, because I’m sure he felt all alone out there at the front of the stage, but I also felt really exposed. I’m used to Patrick on the piano behind me, I know he’s there, I can depend on him, he never misses a cue, he counts all of my breaths, he’s great. I still remember when I slid behind the piano at the Grammys thinking, Oh, no, it all depends on me now, I can’t let Patrick down, I have to get these chords right for him. It was terrifying.”

 

“There’s a reason we have the roles we do,” says Reed.

 

“It’s a very symbiotic relationship,” Usher adds. “We complement each other.”

 

Not enough to save the band from eventually falling apart, though. Their second album, Charm Offensive, was still on the charts when the band broke up, right in the middle of its promotional tour. The album’s biggest hit, _Trick Up Your Sleeve_ , was later nominated for a Song of the Year Grammy. It didn’t win, which was probably just as well, since no one from the band showed up for the ceremony.

 

“We were just tired,” Reed says of the breakup. “We’d had a whirlwind four years, we never stopped touring, we didn’t have homes, we didn’t have _lives_ , we just had Swan, and we’d become Swan so young, it just was untenable.”

 

“When you’re eighteen, you think it’s unbearable if your dreams don’t come true right that very minute,” says Usher. “And now twenty years later I think, God, I wish we hadn’t hit it big at eighteen. I had no idea what to do with it, how to handle it well, how to hold us together when we were growing up at the same time that we were one of the biggest acts on the planet. I didn’t have the life skills to do it then. When we broke up, it felt very final, like, I couldn’t even think of what I could do to fix how much it had fractured.”

 

That was fifteen years ago. Reed mainly dropped out of the limelight, turning to songwriting and producing and leaving performing aside. Usher went on to a successful solo career, earning himself his own Song and Record of the Year nominations for runaway hit _Forever_ , although by his own admission he lost interest after the second album.

 

“I kind of hated being a solo artist,” Usher says. “Touring by yourself is a nightmare. There’s no one to talk to, I found it hard to develop the right rapport with the backing musicians, writing the songs felt like I was just standing in an empty room shouting at myself, listening to the echo. I _was_ just standing in an empty room shouting at myself.”

 

There was no one to banter with, I suggest.

 

“Yeah, those were tours when I just sang straight through without talking,” Usher agrees. “I wasn’t having fun, and I think it showed. I think everyone could feel it. I had this reputation for being this really fun performer, for showing everyone a good time, and I was destroying it. I thought it was better for all of us that I just stop. Swan had made all this amazing music I was really proud of, I thought I should leave it instead of jumbling it up with whatever I was doing.”

 

Hence the eventual pivot to television, which seemed like a natural fit for Usher’s talents.

 

“I’d actually been approached many times for television,” Usher says. “Everyone kept saying how ‘charming’ I was, and how that would translate to the viewers. But I was at this stage where I never wanted to hear the word ‘charming’ again. I know I named a whole album for my charm, I recognize the irony in this.”

 

He eventually acquiesced and was, yes, incredibly charming on _Who Can Sing the Best?_ And then he followed it up with a blockbuster announcement of a Swan reunion tour that no one saw coming.

 

“ _We_ didn’t see it coming,” Reed says drily. “He literally showed up behind a piano one day and a week later I found myself gearing up for a tour. I have no excuse. Other than he’s charming.”

 

They met in a thoroughly chance encounter, at the house of a mutual acquaintance they hadn’t even known they had in common.

 

“I was playing the piano at her house,” Usher says, “just fooling around, and I glanced up and Patrick was standing there staring at me like I was a ghost. And then, after that first time meeting again, I thought, I don’t know.” Usher pauses and looks at Reed and says, “I don’t know, I guess I thought that fifteen years was long enough to grow up and maybe not make all of the same mistakes all over again. And luckily Patrick was up for giving it another go.”  

 

Reed says, “I think I thought the Swan part of my life was definitely over. But Matt kind of made me realize that we’d had this really great thing and we’d ended it _so_ badly. That maybe we should try to write a better ending than that.”

 

A video went viral of Reed and Usher giving an impromptu performance in a hotel lobby, Usher holding Reed’s baby son while Reed plays piano, and they run through their biggest hits with an ease that set the internet on fire. The video is rough and the songs are imperfect but the performance is full of the trademark magnetism that Swan’s fans once called “Mattrick Magic.”

 

The tour announcement came soon after, confirming the return of drummer Anna Jin, who’d gone on to become a critically acclaimed documentary filmmaker, and her brother David, who handles the sinuous saxophone line Usher insists on writing into their songs.

 

“Matt has an obsession with the saxophone,” Reed says. “I don’t think I wrote a single song with a saxophone in it until I met Matt, and then he was constantly scribbling notes into our songs and saying, ‘This is for the saxophone, you’ve got to have a saxophone.’”

 

“I’m the one in charge of making the songs sexy,” Usher says. “Saxophones are sexy.”

 

Reed rolls his eyes.

 

Getting the band back together was both easy and hard.

 

“I felt like it was like riding a bike,” Usher says. “It was like no time had gone by at all. The first time we played _Luck_ through, it felt like it had been yesterday that we’d last done it.”

 

But they were all also fifteen years older, and the tour has functioned as nostalgia for Swandom.

 

“They show up in t-shirts from fifteen years ago,” Usher says, “with photos they used to have up in their lockers, and while we’re signing these things they tell us they conceived their first child to the last half of Banter & Badinage, and I just think, How did we get here? I mean, it’s fantastic, don’t get me wrong, I am flattered beyond belief that we’ve gotten to be part of such intimate parts of people’s lives. I’ve always been so flattered that I don’t know what to do with that other than do as much as we can to show our gratitude. Sometimes I think they remember the songs better than I do.”

 

Reed adds, “Matt was studying the lyrics before we went out on tour, terrified he was going to forget them, and I kept saying to him, ‘The crowd will sing it for you. You’ve forgotten that they do that.’”

 

“They do sing it for me,” says Usher. “It’s so nice. I barely have to work, which is how I prefer things.”

 

The setlist is an energetic run-through of every single the band ever released, except for one noteworthy exception: _Call Your Bluff_ , an angry companion song for the album’s biggest hit, _Trick Up Your Sleeve_.

 

“We don’t sing that song anymore,” Usher replies simply.

 

They’ve replaced it with Usher’s biggest solo hit, _Forever_.

 

“It felt like a treat to give the fans,” Usher says. “Most of them know it. It gets a big reception.”

 

“It was my idea,” Reed says. “I love _Forever_ , and I thought it should have a place in the show.”

 

Not so for Usher’s other huge solo hit, _Anything_?

 

Usher says, “Patrick has a difficult time getting through _Anything_ , so we had to leave it off the setlist.”

 

“No comment,” says Reed.

 

While the setlist runs through all the hits as well as a couple of the more popular unreleased songs on their albums, what it doesn’t do is add any new songs – and there are tantalizing hints of them. Usher sang an unidentified new song during the first impromptu hotel lobby concert. VIPs have posted clips of other new songs being used at soundchecks. It seems like Usher and Reed, once an indelible songwriting duo, have fallen back into old habits. It doesn’t seem like they’re writing an ending at all, but rather a new beginning.

 

“It is going better than I thought it would,” Usher admits. “And I thought it was going to go really well. But it’s felt _right_ to me. In a way that my solo career never, ever did.”

 

Reed, as he so often does, agrees. “I couldn’t do this without Matt. I never even wanted to. The fact that this is working right now is because Matt and I are communicating much better than we ever did.”

 

“We’re soulmates,” Usher says simply. “When we strip away the fame, we fit each other nicely. It was always just the fame that was making things complicated. But I think writing songs is our default state. We were writing a song within a few hours of meeting up again.”

 

“We were writing a song within a few hours of _meeting_ , period,” Reed says. “So I think it’s this very natural way for us of interacting with each other. We’re hanging out and we’re bored, so we start writing a song.”

 

“We wrote one with Patrick’s kids on the bus on the way to Orlando,” says Usher. “Obviously we can never release that one because Patrick’s kids are going to drive too hard a royalty bargain.”

 

Any chance any of them will be added to the concert setlist?

 

“They’re not ready,” Reed says immediately.

 

Usher pauses, considers, and then smiles at Reed. “I don’t know, give me a little while to charm him.”

 

No, it doesn’t sound like an ending at all.

 

***

 

The bathroom cooled off while they sat and read together. When they finished, Matt pulled the pages closer, admiring the photos they chose to complement the internal spread. There was one of Matt leaning on the piano, Patrick at the bench, laughing at each other, looking straight into each other’s eyes, casual and comfortable. Another was Matt sprawled on his back on the piano, smiling up at Patrick, standing at the keys looking down at him fondly. They were both good pictures, and Matt was pleased. The pictures seemed the most truthful they’d ever taken as a couple, like they’d captured something about who they were to each other that Matt just wanted to cherish closer. They’d also included the terrible bicycle picture from the youth and the absurdity of it put into sharp relief how much better the current pictures were. They looked like kids playing dress-up, which they had been, instead of grown-ups who knew how to _be_ with each other.

 

“It’s good,” Patrick said, resting his lips in Matt’s hair. “Did you like it?”

 

Matt nodded and turned his head into Patrick’s neck. Patrick was the warmest thing in the room now; the air all around them had turned clammy.

 

“Let’s get into bed,” Patrick suggested.

 

Matt followed Patrick docilely, curled up next to him. Patrick put the television on and flipped aimlessly through, until Matt checked his hand on an infomercial. Patrick shrugged and put the remote control aside and settled in.

 

It was warm and comfortable and Matt felt drowsy and also not at all tired. He stared at the infomercial unseeingly. Patrick was tense underneath him and trying not to show it, which Matt appreciated, but the thrumming tension between them upset Matt. They were _off_ , the two of them, and Matt knew it was because he’d forced Patrick to deal with an unexpected vocal issue with no warning. Patrick was angry with him and pretending he wasn’t, in that way that Patrick had, in that way Matt _hated_.  

 

Matt sat up suddenly and reached for his notebook and wrote, _I want to talk_.

 

“I know. Tomorrow. Rest it for tonight. I want you to be better tomorrow, I want you to open up your mouth to sing when we get to Denver and hit every note perfectly.”

 

Matt shook his head and added _about us_ to the end of the sentence he’d written, showing it to Patrick again. _I want to talk about us_.

 

“Now?” said Patrick. “You want to talk about us _now_? When you can’t actually talk?”

 

Matt wrote, _Don’t you think we should talk?_

 

“ _Yes_ , I think we should talk,” Patrick bit out, surprising Matt with his vehemence. “Because this situation, right here? How many times did I ask you about your voice? How many times did I notice that you were clearly trying to outrun it giving out on this tour? How many times did you tell me you were fucking fine?”

 

Matt hung his head repentantly.

 

“So yes,” said Patrick. “We should talk. Because you don’t tell me the things you’re most afraid of. You never have. The night that the crowd knew every word to _Lose Your Head_ , you were fucking terrified. I took you home and I fucked you out of it but I should have said something right then. You _never talk to me when you’re scared_. And that can’t be how this is. You can’t _do_ this to me. This time we have to talk, we have to talk so much, about everything, we have to say every single thing in our heads. Okay? I mean, I know we both—I just—Do you know how terrifying it was on that stage for _me_? I know it was no picnic for you, but I have never seen you seem lost on a stage. You’ve always come alive on a stage. And you were lost and I was sitting there playing the fucking piano trying to figure out how to help you because you hadn’t ever _talked_ to me about—Fuck. I did not mean to yell at you. I’m not yelling at you. Sorry. Tonight’s been a lot. It’s been a lot, and I love you, and I’m here for you, and I wish you would _use_ me for that, I wish you wouldn’t go off to hide when you cry about your dad, or fret about your voice in secret, _please_ just talk to me, Matt, darling, always, always, the worst thing is when I feel you trying to dance beyond my grasp.” Patrick took a deep breath.

 

Matt stared at him.

 

Patrick said carefully, “So. Okay. That was me talking to you, I guess. That was me being honest. The thing that scares me is you slipping through my fingers again. Me being unable to grab you back. Having you now, in this glorious way I have you, and feeling like I won’t be able to keep you. I don’t care how famous you are, I don’t care how many people want you, I don’t care how much of our lives and our relationship belongs to the public stage, to _them_. I need there to be a piece that belongs to _us_ , okay? That’s all. Just a piece that’s here with me when you’re not performing.”

 

Matt kept staring at him.

 

“This was a terrible idea,” Patrick sighed. “I’m sorry. Why did I do this? I should have waited. Sorry. Let’s go back to watching informercials.”

 

Matt wrote in his notebook, _I want to get married_.

 

Patrick read it and blinked at it and stared at it.

 

Fuck, thought Matt, what kind of terrible fucking idea was that, why would he _do_ that? He took the notebook back and wrote in it furiously. _And I’m scared you don’t want to. Because I know you wanted it fifteen years ago, and I said no, and after you ask someone to marry you and they say no, why would you ever decide to marry that person, but I swear that I would be the best husband, and I totally get why you wanted this now, I totally want it to be us against this world, our little unit, us and the kids, and I want to get married_.

 

He turned it back around to Patrick, who didn’t even read it, who knocked it completely aside and kissed him. Kissed him _breathless_. And then pulled back and rested their foreheads together and murmured, “Matt. Yes. _Matt_ ,” and then kissed him again.

 

Matt felt dazed. Too dazed to process what was happening. Had he just proposed marriage? Had Patrick just accepted? Is this how he’d decided to do it, in the middle of the night, with an infomercial on in the background, via a notebook he’d pulled out of the hotel nightstand? And the fact that Patrick was kissing him, deep and slow and _profound_ , wasn’t helping him collect his scattered thoughts.

 

Patrick kissed him, kissed him back against the bed, kissed him beneath the surface of all his loud anxieties, so that suddenly his head was quiet and things were good and there was just the reality of Patrick, stretched out over him, a comforting, familiar, warm weight that he wanted for the rest of his life. _The rest of his life_.

 

And Patrick was saying yes. At least, Matt thought Patrick was saying yes. He kept breathing it into Matt’s skin, murmuring it into Matt’s mouth.

 

“Patrick,” Matt gasped, pulling Patrick’s head slightly away from him so he could _breathe_ and try to wrap his head around what he’d just done.

 

Patrick shook his head and put his fingers against Matt’s lips. “Don’t talk. I want to ravish you. Can I ravish you?”

 

And Matt, who had not been in the mood for it earlier, suddenly wanted it desperately. He nodded, and Patrick grinned and spread him out on the bed like a feast just for him, peeling off his clothes and then leaning over him. Matt looked up at him, and Patrick smiled, soft and sweet, and combed Matt’s hair off of his forehead, and Matt wanted to tell him to hurry up and get on with it and also never wanted this moment, the way Patrick was looking at him, to end.

 

Then Patrick leaned his head closer and just breathed for a moment, and then he said, “If you’re asking, I’m saying yes.”

 

Matt, wide-eyed, nodded so eagerly that he knocked his forehead against Patrick’s chin.

 

Patrick pulled back, laughing, and then kissed Matt’s forehead, and then said, “Okay. Keep quiet now.”

 

And then he went to work.

 

***

 

Matt was sound asleep.

 

Which was to be expected, that was generally the result when Patrick really put his mind to it, he was an expert at getting Matt’s head to shut up enough to let him sleep, and he should have done it much earlier in the night, only he’d been too tense to, too worried about Matt and also irritated that Matt hadn’t told him about any of this, that he’d kept it hidden, despite Patrick deliberately asking about it. Patrick had known something was up, and Patrick had asked, and Matt had still lied to him, and that was still an issue they were going to have to deal with, but in the meantime…

 

Matt was dead to the world next to him, and Patrick leaned over the bed and retrieved the notebook from the floor, where it had gotten flung.

 

He read the desperate paragraph Matt had scribbled, which Patrick had ignored before: _And I’m scared you don’t want to. Because I know you wanted it fifteen years ago, and I said no, and after you ask someone to marry you and they say no, why would you ever decide to marry that person, but I swear that I would be the best husband, and I totally get why you wanted this now, I totally want it to be us against this world, our little unit, us and the kids, and I want to get married_.

 

And his heart squeezed painfully inside his chest and he looked at Matt, who always looked so vulnerable when he was sleeping, so _small_ somehow, when he was so larger than life the rest of the time. Matt, who had been so fiercely independent as a child that Patrick hadn’t been able to break him of it entirely, to get him to think that they could be a _team_. And here was Matt, wanting it to be the two of them—the six of them—against the world. Here was Matt, with apparently his biggest fear in the entire universe being that Patrick _wouldn’t_ want that. Patrick had thought he was being utterly transparent, almost pathetically so, for someone who had been rejected so soundly and had given in so immediately.

 

Patrick looked at what Matt had written first, all his terrible fears wrapped up in five words.

 

_I want to get married_.

 

***

 

“I want to get married,” said Patrick, in a hotel room in Paris, a view of the Eiffel Tower out their window.

 

They had splurged in Paris. Matt had insisted on it, and Patrick had thought maybe it was some kind of romantic impulse, but Matt hadn’t otherwise seemed any more or less romantic than usual, and they were sitting on the bed together, with cheeseburgers in between them, and Patrick could have chosen a better time to say this, could have planned all of this better.

 

Except that Patrick felt so off-balance with Matt these days that he didn’t know what that better time might be. He didn’t know a better way to say this than to just _say_ it.

 

Matt, licking ketchup and mustard off his thumb, laughed.

 

Patrick didn’t know what his face looked like but it must have looked hurt, because he _was_ hurt, too hurt to hide it, and Matt lowered his thumb from his mouth and wiped all amusement off his face.

 

“Wait,” he said. “You’re serious.”

 

“I was, yes,” Patrick said shortly.

 

“I thought you were joking,” Matt said. “I thought—I don’t know—you meant marry someone else. You want to marry me?”

 

“Who the fuck else would I marry Matt?” Patrick demanded. “Who, in four fucking years, have I ever looked at other than you?”

 

Matt tipped his head quizzically. “But why… Sorry, I’m doing a terrible job with this, and I can tell it means a lot to you, but like…” Matt moved their plates out of the way, which Patrick appreciated. “Why would you want to get married?”

 

“Because I love you?” Patrick suggested scathingly. “Because you love me?”

 

“What does that have to do with getting married?” Matt asked blankly.

 

“What does being in love have to do with getting married?”

 

“Yes,” Matt said. “Don’t be obtuse. _Yes_. We’re in love either way. What does getting married have to do with it?”

 

Patrick didn’t know what to say to that. To him it was _obvious_. It was obvious that it would tell the world they were a team. So he said just that. “We’d tell the world we’re a team.”

 

Matt lifted his eyebrows at him. He looked honestly perplexed. “They know we’re a team. They call us Mattrick. Or else they call us Usher & Reed and say we’re one of the best songwriting duos in a decade.”

 

Patrick shook his head in frustration. “Not that. That’s not us. That’s not really us.”

 

“No.” Matt waved his hand between them. “ _We’re_ us. Sitting right here together. We’re us, and I love you. Do you not believe that I love you? Is that what this is all about? Do you need me to do something to prove it?”

 

Patrick was exhausted suddenly. Actually no – not suddenly. Patrick was always exhausted these days. He didn’t know how to articulate the way he felt, which was loving Matt, and knowing Matt loved him, and just being always vaguely dissatisfied by it, like they weren’t doing it right, like they were doing it out of habit, that it was always Swan first these days.

 

“No,” he said wearily. “I know you love me.” He let himself drop backward onto the bed, covered his eyes with his arm. It was avoidance, and he knew it. He should press this point, but he didn’t even know what he wanted to press it _to_.

 

“We’re doing so well,” Matt said. “We’re on a _world tour_. And it’s _sold out_. Your little temper tantrum song is the song of the summer. Charm Offensive is about to go platinum. Why, in the middle of all of this, would you want to get married?”

 

“Because everything you just said is about _Swan_ ,” Patrick said. “Not us. And it’s not a temper tantrum, fuck you.” He didn’t even say it with any heat. He was beyond having heat for this argument at the moment.

 

There was a beat of silence, and then Matt curled up next to him, nuzzled into his neck. “Hey,” he murmured.

 

Patrick sighed and let him cuddle closer, because he wasn’t really able to resist Matt’s closeness. It was too everything-he-always-wanted. When Patrick was awake at night, sad and disheartened, it was entirely because Matt always slept on the opposite edge of the bed, as unreachable asleep as he so often felt awake these days.

 

“We’ve been touring too long,” Matt said against him, settling heavily.

 

“Yes,” Patrick said, because he agreed with that sentiment whole-heartedly.

 

“I’m sorry.” Matt kissed his neck, the shell of his ear. “I’m sorry. I’ve worn you out. Let me take you away somewhere. We’ll cancel a few shows and we’ll go away.”

 

Patrick opened his eyes, shifted to try to see Matt. It necessitated wriggling away from him, but this was a new offer and one he needed to examine. “We’ll cancel shows?”

 

Matt looked serious. “If you need me to cancel some shows to prove I’m committed to you, then I’ll cancel some shows.”

 

Patrick frowned. “I’m not saying it as an ultimatum. I don’t want you to interpret this as ‘me or Swan.’ That’s not what I’m saying.”

 

“Then I don’t know what you want,” Matt snapped. “I wish you’d just _tell_ me. I am _trying_ here.”

 

“I said I wanted to get married.”

 

“And I said I don’t want to. So that’s it. We’re at an impasse? We can’t get by your heteronormative desire to have a house with a picket fence? I literally put the _fucking world_ at your feet, Patrick Reed.”

 

“Wow,” said Patrick, and sat up to break all of their physical contact.

 

“I am just _saying_ ,” said Matt, following him up.

 

“How the fuck is it heteronormative if I’m marrying _you_?” Patrick demanded.

 

“Marriage is a ridiculous bourgeois institution,” Matt said.

 

“Oh, right, and you’re grooming your hipster sensibilities,” Patrick drawled sarcastically.

 

“Do you know any happily married people?” Matt demanded.

 

“Do you think _we’re_ happy?” Patrick retorted.

 

And it was really the first time he had ever said that out loud.

 

Matt sucked in a breath, looking sucker-punched. And then he regrouped, his eyes glittering hard. “If we’re not happy, getting married definitely isn’t going to fix that.”

 

Which was a valid point, Patrick conceded. He closed his eyes again and leaned his head back against the headboard and said tiredly, “I’m just tired, Matt.” And he _was_. He was _so tired_. He felt like he hadn’t slept in _years_. He was too busy worrying about whether or not Matt was sleeping.

 

Matt was silent for so long that Patrick actually opened his eyes, thinking maybe he’d managed to slip out.

 

Matt was staring at him, his expressive eyes deep and bottomless, that mode when Patrick drowned in them and never was able to find his way out. “You make me happy,” he said, sounding almost anguished in his sincerity.

 

Patrick looked at him skeptically. “Do I?” Because he wasn’t sure Matt seemed happy to him anymore. Not when they weren’t on a stage.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” said Matt fervently. “Do you think I’m not happy?”

 

“I don’t know anymore. I told you. I’m tired.”

 

Matt took his hand and said, “Look. We’ll go away somewhere. Okay? I promise. When the tour is over, we’ll go away just the two of us. Some deserted beach somewhere. How does that sound?”

 

“A deserted beach somewhere,” Patrick echoed, thinking he would have preferred a crowded beach somewhere, a beach where they reached for each other and didn’t care who was watching, where it finally _wasn’t_ a performance, for just the span of a few breaths.

 

“Yes,” Matt said, and now he was bouncing happily, his scheme already in place and ticking along. “It’s going to be great. I’ll spoil you. We’ll sleep. We won’t think about Swan. I _promise_. We won’t get out of bed. It’ll be the old days. We’ll get some tiny hotel room and pretend it’s your dorm room all over again. I’ll find us a dilapidated piano to fill half the room, and a bed for the other half.”

 

“It wasn’t dilapidated,” Patrick said, reluctantly charmed by the vision. He kind of wanted desperately to go back to that. Everything had been very simple in the days before they’d left his room.

 

“The A3 key always stuck,” Matt said, smiling now, his eyes brighter and less complicated. “I used to try to write songs just to avoid it.”

 

“I miss that key,” Patrick said.

 

“Me, too,” Matt said, and leaned forward and kissed him.

 

Patrick kissed him back, and he could feel that Matt took a deep breath at the tail end of the kiss.

 

“Hey, you,” he said, and rubbed his nose against Patrick’s. “I can’t believe my luck.”

 

“I know,” said Patrick, because he did.

 

***

 

Rachel stared up at the ceiling worrying about Matt.

 

At least, that’s what she was telling herself she was worrying about.

 

But maybe she was worrying about… _everything_. Maybe she was worrying about _so much_. Maybe she kept worrying about so much and deflecting it onto Swan. Onto her job generally. She thought there was some truth to everything Patrick kept telling her. She _was_ like Matt, defensive about the things she knew she was doing wrong, and one of them was the way she’d decided to live her life by running herself so ragged she might not remember how much she missed the piano.

 

But she fucking missed the piano.

 

Rachel, her heart pounding, crawled out of bed and threw on clothes. There was a piano in this hotel. She wasn’t going to play it. She was going to sit in front of it and…and just _feel_ it. This was all about baby steps. She was going to get there eventually, it was just…baby steps.

 

Rachel opened her hotel room door and glanced up and down the hall, like she was doing something wrong and didn’t want to get caught. Which was ridiculous, because she wasn’t doing anything wrong, and no one was going to see her, it was the middle of the night.

 

Which was when Carmen came around the corner.

 

She blinked in surprise and said, “Rachel! What are you doing up and about at this time of night?”

 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Rachel hedged, which was true enough, and she was so busy being horrified she’d been caught out that it took her a second to realize how weird this was. She tilted her head. “Hang on. What are _you_ doing up and about at this time of night?”

 

“Oh.” Carmen sent her a wicked smile. “I haven’t gone to bed yet.”

 

“You…” Rachel tried to follow. “Did you go to a club?” Usually if she went clubbing Carmen tried to get her to go along.

 

Carmen laughed. “The Anna Jin club. _Quite_ the good time, let me tell you.”

 

“The Anna—” Rachel started to echo, and then cut herself off as Carmen’s implication became clear. “Hang on. You and _Anna_?”

 

Carmen nodded, looking so casual, like this wasn’t…like this wasn’t _monumental_.

 

“Since _when_?” demanded Rachel.

 

“I don’t know,” Carmen said, still unconcerned. “It’s been a whirlwind tour.”

 

Rachel was furious by how casually Carmen was treating this. “You can’t just go around fucking my client!”

 

Carmen blinked. “You went on a _date_ with the client.”

 

“That was before I knew he was the client!” she hissed. “I backed off after that.”

 

“You backed off because the love of his life came back into the picture.”

 

Rachel scoffed. “Oh, please, Anna is _definitely_ not the love of your life.”

 

Carmen narrowed her eyes. “I never said she was. She’s just here, and fun, and she doesn’t make a big deal out of any of this. It’s just sex, Rachel. It’s not a big deal.”

 

“Not a big deal?” Rachel threw her hands up in the air. “Sex isn’t a big deal?”

 

“No,” Carmen said laconically. “What is this really about?”

 

“Nothing,” Rachel said flatly. “It’s about _nothing_. Fuck whoever you want.”

 

“Yeah, thanks,” Carmen said, “but I didn’t really need your permission for that.” Carmen stalked past her down the hallway.

 

If Rachel went back to her room, she would have to follow Carmen, so instead she went in the opposite direction. Instead she followed her feet all the way to the lobby, all the way to the hotel’s piano. Instead she sat on it, and suddenly the piano seemed like such a small thing, suddenly it seemed _tiny_.

 

Rachel reached out, and Rachel _played_.

 

***

 

Matt woke to Patrick sound asleep next to him. Very, very early dawn light was slipping through the curtains, that bright pink-orange of the start of day. That meant Adam would be up any minute now. That meant that Adam would wake _Patrick_ up any minute now. And Matt suddenly felt like he needed a couple of minutes to gather himself before he faced Patrick and his sudden, out-of-nowhere proposal to him. Were they _engaged_ now? Matt didn’t even know.

 

So Matt got out of bed and pulled on enough clothing to be presentable and went to intercept Adam before he could wake Patrick up.

 

Adam was already standing in the crib, and he literally bounced with happiness at seeing Matt, and said, “Ma, Ma, Ma,” and then babbled something else that was very important.

 

“Hi,” Matt said to him, before remembering he wasn’t supposed to talk and swallowing it back. Really, his throat didn’t feel any different than it had before. It wasn’t like it had ever really _hurt_ ; it had always been more of a vague sort of nagging tickle, a this-isn’t-right that he couldn’t describe. He picked Adam up and changed his diaper, because he knew to do these things now. And then he got him dressed, because Bach jumping around his feet made him think that probably Patrick took Bach for a walk at this time.

 

It was really lovely to be out so early in the morning. Matt had resisted early mornings his entire life, but the city was quiet around them, and cool, and no one even glanced at him. He let Adam toddle next to him, clinging onto a finger, and let out enough of Bach’s leash to let him bound around excitedly, and he breathed deeply.

 

_If you’re asking, I’m saying yes_ , was what Patrick had said, before taking Matt all the way under. _If you’re asking, I’m saying yes_. And Matt was _definitely_ asking. It wasn’t how he’d intended to ask, but now that it was out there – now that Patrick was saying yes – he wasn’t about to take it back.

 

When they went back inside, the suite was still silent. Matt let Bach lead him to food and tossed what looked like a reasonable amount into her bowl. Then he put a fond finger to Adam’s lips, as a _shh_ gesture, and then he gathered up some baby Legos and took them into the bedroom, where he settled with Adam on the bed and built towers with him while Patrick slept next to them.

 

Patrick said, “You should have woken me. You’re supposed to be resting.”

 

Matt jumped, startled, and looked over at him, then shrugged. Patrick’s eyes were still bleary with sleep, and his hair was flattened ridiculously against the pillow, and Adam, hearing his voice, immediately crawled over to him and tried to climb onto his head.

 

Matt retrieved the notebook and held it up to Patrick, because he’d already written his most pressing question. _Are we engaged?_

 

Patrick blinked a few times, clearly trying to get his eyes to focus on it while also dodging Adam, and then he laughed. “I don’t know. Are we?”

 

Matt scowled. That wasn’t the answer he was looking for.

 

Patrick laughed again and sat up to lean forward and kiss the displeasure off Matt’s face. Matt was a little annoyed it worked. “We are if you want to be,” he said, leaning back a bit.

 

Matt was _so_ annoyed he wasn’t supposed to be talking. He picked up the notebook and wrote, _I want to be. Do you want to be?_

 

“Yes,” said Patrick. “But we have a lot we need to talk about. Because it’s not just about getting married. It’s never just been about getting married. Our lives are too complicated for that.”

 

Matt hated that he could see the truth of that. His proposal had definitely not just been about getting married, and that had been obvious by the fact that he had blurted it out when Patrick had been demanding to know his biggest fears.

 

Matt nodded.

 

Patrick said, “Not today, though. Today—look at me.” He tipped Matt’s head with a finger under his chin. “Today’s about you feeling better, okay? You getting better. And knowing that I am right here, loving you, very happily wanting to marry you. No worrying about it, okay?”

 

Matt nodded again.

 

Patrick kissed his forehead, then turned to Adam, who was demanding his attention. He tackled him to the bed with tickles before glancing back at Matt. “How does it feel anyway?”

 

Matt shrugged.

 

“I’ll order you some honey lemon water,” Patrick said. “And we’ll spend the bus ride to Denver making you play charades.”

 

Matt gave him a withering look.

 

***

 

_Denver_

 

The bus ride to Denver was miserable. Matt spent most of it in the bus’s bathroom, converting it into a steam room. Patrick would ordinarily not have let Matt hide all day, but it wasn’t like they could talk, and it was probably kinder not to pull Matt into one-sided conversations he couldn’t be heard in.

 

The kids took turns making him honey lemon water and bringing it to him in the bathroom.

 

At one point Kylie came back with a note from Matt, looking unimpressed.

 

_ENOUGH!!!!_ read the note.

 

“The doctor said to keep you hydrated!” Patrick shouted to him in the bathroom.

 

Matt, who had his phone in there with him, started blasting Banter & Badinage on high volume.

 

“He’s going to be okay, right?” said Hailey.

 

“He’s going to be just fine,” said Patrick.

 

Kylie said, “Sean is super-worried about him.”

 

“How do you know that?”

 

Kylie shrugged.

 

“Does Sean _text_ you?” asked Patrick, feeling like he was losing control of the Sean situation.

 

Kylie rolled her eyes. “It is _so_ above-board. I do understand he’s too old for me, you know.”

 

“Do you?” asked Patrick skeptically.

 

But Kylie offered him her phone, a gesture that both surprised and touched him, and the texts from Sean were almost painfully innocuous.

 

_Tell Matt we all hope he feels better!!!_ _J_ _J_ _J_

 

“I swear,” Kylie said, “everyone at school thinks it’s so cool I’m meeting rock stars, and all they do is send me texts with smiley faces.”

 

Patrick smiled and handed her phone back. “Stay away from rock stars, they’re no good.”

 

“You’re one to talk,” Kylie sniffed at him.

 

“Matt says Kylie’s just like you,” Hailey remarked, “so probably she’ll end up with a rock star.”

 

“Everyone in this family should listen to Matt less,” Patrick proclaimed, which made all of his girls laugh. And then Adam, seeing everyone laughing, joined in. Patrick felt like even Bach was laughing.

 

Which was good, because the mood had been heavy. Matt had that effect. When he was bouncy and energetic, he could coax everyone into smiles. When he was brooding and sullen, he could bring everyone was down. Patrick thought it was something like a superpower, and it worked fantastically when an entire arena was focused on him, feeding off of the joyful exuberance he was projecting. Patrick liked it far less when it got sticky and everything seemed bogged down in it.

 

Patrick got Adam to fall asleep and laid him in the middle of the bus’s bed for his nap. And then he decided to hide for a second himself, laying down next to him. In the lounge, the girls were caught up in their own separate electronic activities, and Matt had stopped blasting music from the bathroom, and Patrick closed his eye and let Adam take sleeping baby breaths next to him.

 

He heard someone slip into the room and opened his eyes, curious if it was going to be Matt, but it was Kylie.

 

“Hi,” she said in a low voice. “Is he sleeping?”

 

Patrick nodded. “Was there something you wanted?”

 

Kylie shook her head but she also crawled onto the bed with them, so Patrick waited her out.

 

“Does he know?” she asked finally, in a small voice, looking at Adam instead of him.

 

Patrick knew immediately what she meant. _Does Matt know that tomorrow is the year anniversary of Ashley leaving?_ He assumed that all of his girls were focused on this. He had been planning on making Denver as amazing as possible, to try to overwrite the day’s memories with good things.

 

He said, “Not yet. I’m going to tell him, but we’ve had a lot going on lately.”

 

Kylie nodded, breathing slow and steady. Then she said, “You’re going to want to stay with him after the tour is over.”

 

She said it as a steady declarative sentence, and Patrick thought that yes, his girls needed to come to terms with this. Patrick didn’t know the logistics yet, but he couldn’t without talking to them.

 

He said, “ _We’re_ going to stay with him. Or he’s going to stay with us. If that’s okay. Is that okay?”

 

Kylie finally looked at him. “We like him. You know we like him. It’s just… Where will we live?”

 

“Where do you want to live?” Patrick asked.

 

“If we pick the wrong place—”

 

“There is no wrong place,” Patrick cut her off swiftly. “The only wrong place is us ending up in the place you don’t want to live.”

 

“Matt’s entire career is in California,” Kylie pointed out.

 

Patrick had had that thought, too. “We will make whatever work,” he promised, because he knew this was true. “Matt’s not going to break up with me because you want to stay on the East Coast. Do you want to stay on the East Coast?”

 

“ _I_ do,” said Kylie. “We just got comfortable out there. I don’t want to have to move again. I don’t know how Miranda and Hailey feel.”

 

“You haven’t talked about it with them?”

 

Kylie shook her head. “They think I’m difficult because I’m in high school.”

 

“Well,” said Patrick, “that’s definitely true, you _are_ difficult.”

 

Kylie snorted.

 

“We lived in California your whole life,” Patrick said, “until this year.”

 

“Right. That’s why I’m worried Hailey and Miranda will want to go back. And Matt’s got his show. And, I don’t know, I don’t want to be the only one who wants to go back home, but I do. I kind of love our falling-down house on the beach. I know I made fun of it a lot, but…I liked it. We were really happy there.”

 

Patrick thought of Matt’s assessment that these kids had spent their entire lives stressed and unhappy, that it had just been this past year they’d been able to take deep breaths. Patrick knew they’d been happy this past year, he heard what Kylie was saying, and he wasn’t sure that had had anything to do with geography.

 

He said, “We’d be happy in California, you know. It wouldn’t be like it was before.”

 

“I know,” said Kylie, although Patrick didn’t really think she did. Patrick thought Kylie was having a visceral reaction against California, and he couldn’t really blame her for that.

 

He said, “Please don’t worry about this right now. We’re going to make it work. We’re all going to find a way to be happy together, okay?” _And I’m going to get us into therapy and maybe we’ll all learn healthier ways of dealing with this_ , thought Patrick.

 

Kylie nodded.

 

Patrick said, “Thanks for being so honest with me about Sean.”

 

Kylie said, “There’s nothing to hide about Sean. It’s _so_ boring.”

 

“Really, rock stars are so much more trouble than they’re worth,” said Patrick. “They’re absolute nightmares to deal with.”

 

“You’re such a liar,” said Kylie fondly.

 

***

 

Matt was bored out of his mind. He was sick of the inside of this bathroom, where it felt like time wasn’t moving forward. So he wrote on his notebook, _Do not make me go back in there, it’s like a coffin_ , and then ventured out.

 

He’d written the note for Patrick but Patrick wasn’t in the lounge area. It was just Hailey and Miranda, who looked up at him.

 

“How do you feel?” Hailey asked.

 

Matt shrugged. He didn’t even know anymore. Did he feel better? Worse?  The same? What was he supposed to feel like? It was all too confusing.

 

“Dad and Kylie are taking naps with Adam, or something,” said Miranda. “Hey, do you want to watch this? I’m cutting footage I’ve been taking. Do you think Anna will like it?”

 

Perfect. A distraction. Just what Matt had been looking for. He sat on the couch and let Miranda show him her movie, which was really good. Matt was impressed. How were all of Patrick’s kids so talented? Were all kids like this? Matt had no idea. But he gave Miranda’s thumb’s-ups and encouraging smiles and tried to write some substantive comments down on his notebook for her. Miranda looked delighted by all of that.

 

Patrick and Kylie came out of the bedroom and Patrick looked at him in surprise. “What are you doing out here?”

 

Matt held out his prewritten message.

 

Patrick read it and chuckled. “Okay, I won’t make you go back into the coffin.”

 

Matt wrote, _Miranda’s movie is really awesome_.

 

“Is it? She’s refusing to show me.”

 

“Dad, it’s _embarrassing_ ,” squeaked Miranda.

 

Patrick shook his head at her, fond and sweet, then said to Matt, “How do you feel?”

 

Matt wrote, _I don’t remember how I’m supposed to feel. I don’t remember how to talk. I don’t remember what my voice sounds like._

 

Patrick picked up his cell phone and fiddled with it, and then the sound of _Forever_ filled the bus. “It sounds like this,” Patrick told him, and handed him the phone.

 

And Matt had been listening to his own music in the bathroom but it was nice of Patrick to also try to remind him. He listened to _Forever_ and tried to think of how to modify it to avoid some of the highest notes. If he could give his voice a break on those, that would be better than canceling the tour altogether.

 

Patrick said, “Do you still have a specialist in L.A. that we should call?”

 

Matt looked up from his contemplation of _Forever_ , lifting his eyebrows to indicate his confusion.

 

“For your voice,” Patrick said. “A coach or something.”

 

Matt shook his head and wrote, _Not for years_. He hadn’t relied on singing as a source of income for years. He had sung some on _Who Can Sing the Best?_ but playfully, not seriously. Nothing that he would have needed special attention for.

 

“Hmm,” said Patrick.

 

Matt wrote, _I don’t need some big-name specialist. My voice was tired. I just won’t talk much for the rest of the tour. It’s almost over._

 

Patrick lifted his eyebrows. “You won’t talk much for the rest of the tour. _You_ won’t talk much?”

 

Matt frowned and wrote, _I’ve been doing so well!_

 

Patrick smiled. “No. You have been. It’s just a lot to ask of you. And I’d rather you talk to some big-name specialist. We’re writing another album together, aren’t we? Who’s singing this album for us?”

 

Matt gave Patrick a meaningful look.

 

“Not me,” said Patrick. “Please ask Mrs. Honeycutt her opinion of my singing voice.”

 

Matt shook his head, because that was ridiculous, Patrick had a great voice.

 

Hailey said, “ _Rolling Stone_ says your voice is like—”

 

“Okay,” said Patrick. “We don’t need to bring that up.”

 

Matt, amused, wrote, _Did you have your kids memorize that Rolling Stone review?_

 

Patrick said, “I know for a fact that you have your _Rolling Stone_ covers framed in your house, up on your walls.”

 

Matt was startled. _How do you know that?_

 

Patrick grinned. “I know _you_. Lucky guess.”

 

Matt scowled.

 

***

 

Patrick was surprised when there wasn’t a doctor waiting for them in front of their hotel suite. He would have thought Rachel would have been freaked out about Matt enough to have a doctor there. Instead, he hadn’t heard from Rachel all day. Which, now that he thought about it, was very unlike Rachel. Rachel was a control freak who should definitely have been texting him endlessly for Matt updates.

 

Matt wrote on his notebook, _Doctor????_ and lifted his eyebrows at Patrick.

 

“Yeah,” Patrick agreed. “Let me figure it out.”

 

There was a knock on the door at that moment, and Patrick, thinking it might be the doctor, opened it.

 

It was Anna and David.

 

Anna said, “Okay, we have left you alone all day to recover, let’s fuss now.” She looked beyond him to Matt. “How’s your voice?”

 

Matt shrugged.

 

Patrick said, “We’re trying to get a specialist in to see him. Have you seen Rachel?”

 

“No,” said Anna. “Carmen was looking for her earlier, too.”

 

“Anna!” Miranda exclaimed, rushing up to her. “I’ve got a rough cut.”

 

“Do you?” Anna asked, sounding pleased. “Can I see it?”

 

Miranda blushed and looked uncertain. “I don’t know if I’m ready yet.”

 

“That’s okay,” Anna said encouragingly. “You can take your time. It took your dad ages to show his music to anyone.”

 

“I wouldn’t say _ages_ ,” Patrick protested.

 

“I feel like your suite is nicer than ours,” David said suspiciously.

 

“Probably,” said Patrick. “Matt’s a big-deal rock star, you know.”

 

Matt rolled his eyes and wrote in his notebook, _Can I talk yet?_

 

Patrick grinned at him. “Fine. Do it. Not a lot. Just a little bit.”

 

“Girls, cover your ears,” Matt announced, leaning down to do just that to Adam, who squawked indignation from where he was happily sitting trying to open one of the suitcases.

 

Miranda and Hailey covered their ears. Kylie rolled her eyes.

 

Matt said to Patrick, “Fuck you.”

 

Patrick said, “Good use of your voice. Excellent.”

 

“Well, I’m just happy to hear it again.”

 

“Of course you are,” said Anna drily.

 

David said, “So that’s it? You’re better?”

 

Matt shrugged, looking uncertain.

 

“We’re going to get a doctor in to make sure,” said Patrick. “Don’t overdo it. I’ll order you some hot water and honey and lemon.”

 

“So are we having a show tomorrow night?” David asked.

 

“Hopefully,” said Patrick.

 

“Definitely,” said Matt. “I’m going to shift some of the high notes.”

 

“Matt,” said Patrick, as he picked up the phone.

 

“It’s better than canceling concerts for me to sit around being quiet. It’s not going to permanently damage my voice to keep singing. I’ll go easier on it.”

 

“Maybe you should ask the doctor before you decided it’s not going to permanently damage it,” remarked Anna.

 

David said, “Should we talk? As a band? About a new album?”

 

Patrick placed the order and hung up the phone and turned back to the group. His entire band, sitting on couches, with his kids interspersed between them. Talking about a new album. Who would ever have thought?

 

Patrick glanced at the kids, who were paying close attention, and then looked back to David and Anna. “Well, what do you two think?”

 

“I think we have lives that aren’t Swan,” Anna admitted. “I don’t want to be a jerk about this, but…I’ll record an album if the two of you have everything done and I can flit in for a few days and lay down drum tracks.”

 

“Okay,” Matt said.

 

“Same,” David agreed.

 

“What about touring?” Matt asked.

 

“We do it like this,” David asked. “I can make it work if we do it like this.”

 

“That can work,” Matt said, and looked at Patrick. “I think that can work.”

 

“We have a lot to talk about,” Patrick said. “We need to find you a doctor to make sure you can talk for that long.”

 

“Can I say something first?” said David. “I just…I want to make sure I’m clear that I’m happy. I don’t want to make it sound like I’m not happy you two figured it out and got all of this to work again. I’m tremendously happy. But Swan was always mainly the two of you, and Anna and I kind of fit it in around anything else. And I don’t say that because I’m resentful or anything but because…I don’t want you to think I’m not excited about Swan. I’ve always been incredibly honored that you let me into this thing the two of you made.”

 

“Same,” said Anna, smiling. “David’s being the eloquent one.”

 

Patrick looked at Matt, who looked very still and a little stunned. It was a processing look, and Patrick stepped in gently, keenly aware of the kids’ eyes on them. “It was all of us,” Patrick said. “It was always all of us. Matt and I wouldn’t do this alone.”

 

“Yes, you would,” Anna said. “You’d call it Mattrick and it would hardly be music, it would just be, like, a comedy show, and you’d play a few chords on the piano to punctuate his punchlines.”

 

“Jesus,” Patrick said, chuckling. “That’s basically what we do already.” He looked at Matt, amused, but Matt still looked still and thoughtful. Patrick said, “You know what? I’m calling an end to this impromptu party. We’ve got to find a doctor and get Matt checked out. And in the meantime he’s not allowed to talk much, so, nod your head, darling, and smile at our friends.”

 

Matt glared at him, which made everyone laugh.

 

***

 

Patrick kept complaining that Rachel was being “off,” and Matt couldn’t have given less of a fuck about Rachel. Matt felt battered and exhausted and he just wanted a clean bill of health so he could ask Patrick all of the questions he needed to ask and get all of the reassurances he needed to get.

 

In the meantime, the specialist Patrick had tracked down was busy frowning into his mouth and making him make noises and whatever. Matt was sitting on the desk chair in the bedroom, and Patrick was leaned on the wall beside him, and Mrs. Honeycutt was dealing with the kids so Matt could be as needy and greedy as he wanted in keeping Patrick close. He didn’t feel entirely capable of letting Patrick go at that moment.

 

“Well,” the doctor announced finally, leaning back, “I don’t have much to compare it against. It still looks a bit raw to me. How does it feel?”

 

“Better,” said Matt immediately.

 

“Matt,” said Patrick. “How does it feel?”

 

“It feels better,” Matt insisted. “It does. It doesn’t feel like it did before I started this tour but it feels better than it did in Minneapolis.”

 

“Is it pain?” the doctor asked.

 

Matt shook his head. “No. I don’t know. It’s like….soreness? Like it just wanted a rest. It just felt like it wanted a rest. And I gave it a rest.”

 

“Then you should keep resting it,” said the doctor. “Your voice is like any other muscle.”

 

“I can’t,” Matt said. “We have concerts. Just a few more.”

 

The doctor gave him a look.

 

Matt said desperately, “What if I don’t talk, I just sing? For the next, like, couple of weeks, until the tour is over? I won’t do any talking.”

 

“That is an impossible promise,” Patrick said. “And you know it.”

 

“I’ll talk a _little_ ,” Matt said. “Just a _tiny_ bit. Not a lot. And I will drink and sit in steam rooms and watch what I eat and do all of that.”

 

“Are you going to do all of that without pouting at me?” asked Patrick.

 

“You’re not helping anymore,” Matt told him. “Please go take care of your children.”

 

“But the primary child who needs me right now is you,” Patrick replied evenly.

 

“You’re awful,” said Matt, and stuck his tongue out at him.

 

Patrick laughed.

 

Matt looked back at the doctor, who was looking between them with a look on her face that Matt recognized. _Mattrick shipper_ , he thought, who’d done a very good job otherwise pretending not to be. This was going to be all over Swandom tonight.

 

Patrick said, “Doctor, here’s what it comes down to: Will it permanently damage his voice to sing tomorrow night?”

 

“No,” the doctor said. “It’s not that severe a problem. His voice is just tired, as he says. Rest it. Modulate your volume. Hydration. You know what to do. You’re a professional singer. You need to do it. How many more concerts do you have?”

 

“Seven,” Matt said.

 

The doctor nodded. “Seven concerts. Then, when you’re done with them, take a break until it stops bothering you. Don’t leap right into recording the new album.”

 

“Who said we’re recording a new album?” asked Matt.

 

The doctor stood up, grinning. “The internet.”

 

“Thanks for coming on short notice and doing a house call,” Patrick said. “He causes a commotion when we bring him out in public.”

 

“Thank you so much, doctor,” Matt said gravely. “Please feel free to take Patrick home with you if you like.”

 

Patrick laughed, as did the doctor, and when Patrick left to walk her out, Matt crawled into bed and pulled the blankets up over his head, because he felt fucking _exhausted_.

 

He wasn’t sure how long he curled up there before the door opened and Patrick said, “Oh, are you trying to sleep? I won’t bother you if you want to sleep.”

 

“I don’t want to sleep.” Matt poked his head up out of the blankets. “I want to be bothered. Can I be selfish and steal you a little while longer?”

 

“Well,” Patrick said, “ordinarily I would say yes, except that you just told that doctor to take me home, and she was pretty cute, so—”

 

“You are _awful_ ,” Matt told him. “You compared me to a _child_.”

 

“Sorry,” Patrick said, not looking at all sorry, and leaned over him in the bed. “I want to do Adam’s bedtime routine. Do you mind?”

 

“ _Patrick_ ,” said Matt. “Of course I don’t _mind_.”

 

“Okay.” Patrick kissed him gently. “Don’t stay awake for my sake. We’ve got the rest of our lives to talk.”

 

Matt nodded and tugged him in for another kiss and then pulled the blankets up over his head, thinking there was no way he was going to fall asleep.

 

***

 

Matt pulled the blankets up over his head, thinking there was no way he was going to fall asleep.

 

Patrick said, “Okay, but you have to _try_ , you can’t just stay awake for the rest of our lives.”

 

“Hmm,” said Matt. “I beg to differ.”

 

“Yeah, you certainly partied hard enough to be making a good run at never sleeping again,” said Patrick.

 

Matt stuck his head out and looked at him. He was on the other side of the room, silhouetted against the window, and Matt couldn’t tell what he was doing. Was he just avoiding coming to bed? Matt said, “Did you not have a good time tonight?”

 

“Last night, you mean? I had a good time last night. This morning was another story entirely.”

 

“Patrick, you’re twenty years old, you can see the sunrise and survive, let me tell you.”

 

Maybe talking was helping because Patrick moved toward him, crawled into bed, quirked a smile at him. “For a twenty-year-old, you certainly drank a lot.”

 

“They kept pouring me champagne,” said Matt. “I wasn’t very drunk. I was only a little drunk. I was only tipsy. It’s not like I tried to suck you off in the middle of a hallway or something.”

 

“Matt,” said Patrick, as if that was incomprehensible.

 

“Sometimes I think about that, you know,” Matt remarked, pillowing his head on Patrick’s shoulder.

 

“Sucking me off in the middle of a hallway?” Patrick sounded surprised.

 

“No. If I’d been a person who went to college. If we’d both been in school together. If we’d met at a frat party. Would we have gotten drunk like college kids and made out in someone else’s bed? Do you think we would have?”

 

“Probably not,” said Patrick lightly, “I have standards.”

 

Matt laughed, and Patrick rubbed his hand absently up and down Matt’s spine, and Matt felt better. He thought Patrick seemed better, too. He said, “I had a good time tonight. I wanted you to have a good time tonight. I think you spent too much time talking to Ashley to have a good time.”

 

It was Patrick’s turn to laugh. “She’s fine. A little all over the place. I didn’t feel like socializing with record execs. They kept offering me escalating levels of drugs.”

 

“Christ, I know,” Matt said, and pressed his nose against Patrick’s neck. “Thank you for turning them down.”

 

“Matt. Of course. It’s not like it’s a thing I particularly want to do anyway, and I’d never upset you, you know that.” His hand moved higher, tangling through Matt’s hair.

 

Matt relaxed into it, and let himself be soothed out of worry over whatever Patrick’s weird mood had been. And, abruptly, he remembered how this whole night had started.

 

He popped up in bed.

 

Patrick looked alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

 

“ _Patrick_ ,” he said urgently. “We won a fucking _Grammy_ tonight.”

 

Patrick smiled at him. “We won a fucking Grammy. Yes. We did.”

 

“We won a _Grammy_ ,” Matt said. “What did I even _say_ when we won it? I don’t even remember. Where’s your phone? Where’s _my_ phone? Fuck.” He crawled over Patrick, looking for one of their phones. “Where _is_ my phone?” he said as he found Patrick’s on the nightstand. “Do you think I left it somewhere?”

 

“I think it doesn’t even matter, you’re so terrible when it comes to your phone,” said Patrick, as Matt swiped his open and searched _Swan Grammys_ in the browser.

 

He settled against Patrick as the results came up, the first one being their performance.

 

“Hmm,” Matt said, hitting play on it, “how do you think we were?”

 

“I think we were incredible,” Patrick said.

 

On the screen, David played _Luck_ ’s distinctive saxophone line, and the crowd went _wild_.

 

“Christ, listen to that crowd,” Matt murmured.

 

“You didn’t notice while we were playing?”

 

“I was so worried about fucking up on a national broadcast. I kept going over what the words were in my head.”

 

The camera zoomed in on Matt singing, on that curling trap of a smile he sent out to the crowd as he sang.

 

“You’re dripping sex,” Patrick remarked. “Remember Lilah used to say that about you?”

 

“I drip it all over you,” Matt said.

 

Patrick made a noncommittal sound. “Do you? Where am I right now?”

 

On cue, the camera found Patrick behind the piano, playing a furious run of embellishing arpeggios for the benefit of the live performance.

 

“Right there,” said Matt, “looking very, very hot. Fuck. As soon as we’re done watching this, I’m going to ravish you.”

 

“Okay,” said Patrick, sounding amused, as Matt on the screen walked over to the piano, next to Patrick’s bench. Patrick on the screen glanced up at him, waited for him to finish singing the line he was working on, and then, with a practiced smoothness, Patrick slid off the near side of the bench while Matt slid onto the far side of the bench, and Patrick took the microphone out of his hand and Matt started playing the piano, and the applause was deafening.

 

“That was good,” Matt said, satisfied. That was better than it had felt on stage, and on stage it had felt _fantastic_. “People will be talking about us. It was a good thing.”

 

On the screen, the camera lingered on the novelty shot of Matt behind the piano, playing furiously the demanding runs that made up the background of _Luck_.

 

“Fuck,” said Patrick, nose in Matt’s hair, “you’re a hot piano player, we can’t have you do that in public anymore.”

 

Matt smiled as the camera shifted to Patrick, in front of the microphone, singing all of Matt’s words, and the crowd was _eating him up_. “Yeah,” Matt said, “well, we can’t have you do _that_ in public anymore.”

 

“I look ridiculous,” Patrick said, sounding embarrassed.

 

Matt gave him an incredulous look. “You cannot possibly think that. _Look_ at you.”

 

Patrick looked dubious.

 

Matt shook his head at him, and onstage they switched places again, sliding into the bridge, and the crowd was still _loving_ it.

 

“That was good,” Matt said. “Reputation intact.”

 

“I know you were worried about it,” Patrick said. “You shouldn’t have been. You’re good at what you do.”

 

“ _We’re_ good at what we do,” said Matt, as the song ended, and he skipped to the next video, which was a drumroll over the nominees for Best New Artist, and then they announced Swan’s win, and there was a moment of jubilation when Matt kind of fell into Patrick’s arms in a fierce hug. “I almost kissed you,” he remarked.

 

“Yeah,” Patrick said vaguely.

 

Matt watched the four of them bound their way up to the stage, where Matt took the Grammy and immediately handed it to Patrick, as he was gestured forward. His hair was a mess from the performance they’d given, and he had his sunglasses up in it, his eyes on rare display.

 

“Thank you!” Matt on screen shouted into the microphone. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! We seriously didn’t expect this, and I have nothing prepared, and I feel like I should just make Patrick banter with me, that’s the only thing I know how to do unscripted.” Matt glanced toward Patrick on screen, and Patrick inclined his head a little, smiling at him, and the crowd laughed and cheered, and Matt leaned toward the microphone again and said, “Um, we thank you! All of you! For voting for us. Those of you who didn’t vote for us can just fuck off,” he said with a grin, earning laughter.

 

“Oops,” Matt said. “I didn’t remember I said that. After they were so worried we censor the ‘fuck’ in _Luck_.”

 

“No, no,” Matt on-screen continued, “I’m just joking, we love you, too. And we love our record label, thank you, they’ve been fantastic in believing in us and letting us be ourselves and giving us the promotional support. And Brie and Lilah, who have been with us from almost the very beginning and have put up with us and are the best in the business, thank you, we wouldn’t be here without you. And, I don’t know, I personally want to thank Anna and David, who let me boss them into joining this band. And Patrick.” Matt on the screen paused, and looked over to where Patrick was standing. “Patrick. Who changed my life. When I thought I was going to be the one changing his. Thank you, Trick. This doesn’t happen without you.”

 

“Aww,” Matt said. “I’m glad I said that.”

 

“It was sweet of you,” said Patrick.

 

“ _Sweet_ of me?” echoed Matt, tossing the phone aside so he could sit up and kneel over Patrick. “You know I meant it, right?”

 

“Yeah.” Patrick gave him a lopsided smile. “I know you meant it.”

 

“Patrick.” Matt leaned forward and nipped a kiss against his lips, smiling. “We just won a Grammy. Let’s have Grammy sex.”

 

“Okay,” said Patrick, and Matt fell into his lap, laughing.

 

***

 

Matt was asleep when Patrick was done putting Adam to bed.

 

So Patrick let him sleep. He went back out into the living area and wrangled his kids into togetherness time.

 

“We just spent all day together on the bus,” Kylie complained.

 

“How can Matt already be asleep?” Miranda asked. “It’s, like, eight o’clock.”

 

“Matt’s emotionally exhausted from freaking out all day about his voice,” Patrick said.

 

“So are _we_ ,” said Kylie solemnly.

 

“Sit here with me and let’s pick a movie to watch,” Patrick commanded. “Do I have to bribe you to spend time with me now?”

 

“No,” Hailey said, and snuggled against him.

 

“Thank you,” Patrick said.

 

Kylie rolled her eyes and settled on the other side of him.

 

Miranda said, “Can I choose the movie? Because I have _standards_ and the rest of you do _not_.”

 

“Anna has made you a snob,” Patrick remarked. “I’m going to have a talk with her.”

 

“Miranda was always a snob,” Kylie said.

 

“Okay,” Patrick said, as Miranda gasped in offense and drew in breath to argue. “Let’s not do this right now, hmm? Miranda, go on and pick the movie.”

 

“Well, _that’s_ not fair,” grumbled Kylie, as Miranda stuck out her tongue at her.

 

“Well, in the future we shouldn’t call our sister a snob,” Patrick said mildly. “And, Miranda, don’t gloat, because then Hailey picks the movie.”

 

“I _should_ get to pick the movie,” complained Hailey, “the youngest never gets to pick _anything_.”

 

“You’re not even the youngest anymore,” Miranda pointed out, just to make sure Hailey had an identity crisis.

 

“You called Miranda a snob first,” Kylie told him. “That’s totally not fair.”

 

How had he missed all of this? Patrick asked himself. But he undeniably had. He was looking forward to this tour being over and getting back to _this_. He hoped Matt wasn’t going to find it disappointing.

 

Miranda chose an animated feature, “because not enough people take animation seriously,” which sounded like a line she’d gotten from Anna. But it was a nice compromise, because Hailey would enjoy it, and it was one of those smart features that Kylie couldn’t complain about, and he sat with his three oldest kids and their puppy nestled around him and thought this was lovely.

 

When it was over, when the credits had run, he said softly, “Hey.”

 

The kids had been moving sleepily, clearly ready for bed. Well, Miranda and Hailey were. Kylie was probably getting ready for a few hours on Instagram or whatever. But they all three looked at him when he spoke.

 

He took a deep breath. “I know what tomorrow is. We’re going to have a great day, okay? We’re going to just, like…” He didn’t know what else to say. “Have a great day,” he finished, at a loss.

 

“All of us,” Hailey said. “Matt will be better tomorrow? That’s what the doctor said?”

 

“All of us,” Patrick promised, although he hadn’t yet spoken to Matt about this, but he was sure Matt would agree.

 

“We’re a good team,” Hailey said, pleased.

 

And Patrick thought of how much he’d wanted a team, how much he’d wanted Matt on that team, how independent Matt had always striven to be. And he thought of Matt, asking if he could be selfish and keep Patrick a little while longer. Patrick wasn’t sure Matt would ever have admitted anything like that earlier in their lives together.

 

“Yeah,” Patrick said. “We are.”

 

***

 

Matt woke with a start to Patrick next to him in bed, sleeping, and thought, _Damn it_. Because he’d fully intended to wait up for him. And now it was two o’clock in the morning and Patrick was clearly deeply asleep and the suite was silent all around them.

 

And Matt couldn’t sleep. Matt stared up at the ceiling for a while, not sleeping.

 

By the time three a.m. rolled around, he decided this was ridiculous. He might as well treat his throat while he was up.

 

He pulled on a pair of jeans and an old Swan t-shirt and headed down to the lobby to request some hot water, and got distracted by the sound of a piano crashing over him. It was being played well, authoritatively, not with the shyness some people could use on a piano. Matt, halfway to the front desk, cocked his head in confusion and glanced off toward the sound.

 

The person behind the front desk shrugged at him. “We can’t get her to stop.”

 

Matt, his hot water forgotten, moved off in search of the piano, found it…and that was _Rachel_ playing it.

 

Matt stared, as Rachel crescendoed her way through the end of whatever symphonic piece she was playing. Matt didn’t know classical music. Patrick had always played it sometimes, absently, when they were in a writing lull, but Matt had never expressed much interest in it, so he’d never picked much of it up. The truth he was he resented it a little bit, this magical musical world that had been closed off to him because he hadn’t grown up privileged enough, because he’d had to learn piano from someone who could only teach him the most basic pop songs. And Matt had been planning for musical stardom, so that had been fine to him. But still. He was keenly aware that he had no idea what Rachel was playing and he’d never be able to play it himself, and for a moment he thought of how close Patrick had been to a date with this weird alternate version of him who could have played classical music for Patrick instead of pop songs, and for another brief moment he wondered if Patrick would have liked that.

 

And in the next moment he thought, _Patrick wants to marry you, stop this_.

 

Rachel reached the end of whatever she was playing, and Matt clapped into the silence, and Rachel turned on the piano bench, looking shocked to see him.

 

“You’re really good,” Matt said honestly. “You’re _really_ good.”

 

“Yeah,” Rachel said drily. “I was a prodigy. And you’re talking again.”

 

“Can’t keep me quiet for long,” Matt said, walking into the room with her.

 

“Of course not,” Rachel agreed.

 

“So what’s up with this?” Matt asked, leaning lightly against the piano.

 

Rachel shrugged and played the left-hand part of the beginning of another piece, before dropping her hand back down. “You said this makes things better.”

 

“Because it shuts up your head. For however long you’re playing, it shuts up your head. Don’t you find that?”

 

Rachel looked thoughtful. “Yeah. I guess.”

 

Matt suddenly wanted the piano, too. He nudged Rachel over and said, “Stop hogging it.”

 

She moved over for him, and he played a little bit of nonsense, and then he stopped. “You know. The key to start thinking less. Remember? You said it. My key was Patrick. Then Patrick left. So then I had the piano. That’s why I kept telling you that. You need to find a piano. It’s the thing that will never leave.”

 

“Yeah,” Rachel said. “People are fucking unreliable.”

 

Matt gave her a look. “And what’s that all about?”

 

“Didn’t you just say that? That pianos are the thing that won’t leave you? Why are you down here?”

 

“I couldn’t sleep.”

 

“Why are you down here talking to _me_? Did we become friends and I missed it?”

 

“No,” said Matt wryly. “Apparently not.”

 

Rachel closed her eyes for a second. “I’m just really tired, and I wanted to play the piano. Okay?”

 

Matt knew when he wasn’t wanted. He slid off the piano bench, saying, “Fair enough.”

 

And then she surprised him by talking again. “You do that with Patrick, don’t you?”

 

“Do what?” he asked blankly.

 

“Share a piano bench.”

 

“Oh. Sometimes. I mean. Yeah.”

 

“I don’t know how either of you can play like that. It’s so crowded.”

 

Matt had never before thought of how crowded classically trained Patrick might feel by him on the piano bench with him. Matt had been taught by someone who had kept constantly crowding him on the piano bench, so he’d never really learned to sprawl out and occupy its space.

 

“I don’t know,” Matt said.

 

“You just fit together,” Rachel said, sounding sad about it, and sighed.

 

Matt hesitated. Then he said, “Look, if this is somehow about Patrick…and me…”

 

Rachel barked unamused laughter. “It’s not about Patrick. Or you. Not everything revolves around you.”

 

“So Patrick keeps telling me, but I’ve yet to see evidence of that,” said Matt lightly.

 

“What if you never had anything but a piano?” Rachel asked. “What if, your whole life, it was never anything but you and a piano?”

 

“That’s what I expected,” Matt admitted. “It was the idea that there could ever be anything more than a piano that caught me off-guard. I probably would have been okay if it had just been me and a piano. I’m a disaster with other people.”

 

Rachel snorted. “I haven’t noticed that at all. Everyone _loves_ you. Immediately. They lay eyes on you and go into raptures.”

 

Matt couldn’t help but smile. “You don’t.”

 

“Yeah, and I have no idea why. It would be a lot easier if I thought you were as charming as everybody else tells me you are.”

 

Matt laughed. “Easier for all of us,” he rejoined easily.

 

Rachel, after a moment, smiled a tiny smile.

 

Matt said, “I fell in love with music. Then I fell in love with the piano. Then I fell in love with Patrick. In that order. And then I lost Patrick, and then I lost music. And then I found music again, and then I found Patrick again. But I had to find them again knowing what I’d lost. There was a point in time when you were in love with the piano, and then you lost the piano. Now you have to find the piano again. People come later, after we’ve figured the rest of that out. After we’ve figured out how to shut our brains up long enough to hear what other people are saying.” Matt paused. Rachel was staring at him, and he wondered if he’d said everything all wrong, if he shouldn’t have said anything at all. So he said, “I’m supposed to be resting my voice, and you didn’t really ask me for advice, so I’m going to go. You should play, until things finally get quiet, and then you’ll know yourself a little better.”

 

Rachel kept staring at him evenly. Then she said, “You’re like the fucking Buddha of rock music.” But she said it with a smile, so Matt laughed.

 

***

 

Patrick woke to Matt coming back into the room, spending a little while fumbling around with something, and then crawling into the bed. He brought a blast of cold with him, not the warm sleepiness that Patrick felt would have been wrapped around him if it had just been a simple bathroom break. It woke Patrick up as Matt curled into the blankets.

 

Patrick said, “Where’d you go?”

 

“Hot water,” Matt mumbled. “I couldn’t sleep.”

 

“You went to bed at like eight o’clock,” Patrick said, yawning. “It’s understandable.”

 

“Rachel was playing the piano,” Matt said.

 

“Hmm?” Patrick was startled. “Really? Where?”

 

“In the lobby. We talked. She said I’m the Buddha rock music.”

 

“What the fuck,” said Patrick. He wasn’t awake enough for this conversation.

 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Matt said, turning to him and nuzzling under his jaw. “Want me to blow you and put you back to sleep?”

 

“You literally just got your voice back, you’re not blowing me,” Patrick said.

 

“You do know that the problem with my voice has nothing to do with _blowjobs_.”

 

“It’s like the one thing in my control when it comes to your throat,” Patrick said. “Let me have this one thing.”

 

Matt huffed into his neck. “Fine, but I don’t know how you’re living with the deprivation of Matt Usher blowjobs.”

 

“How _do_ I survive?” Patrick wondered.

 

“Hmm,” Matt murmured, drawing his finger up and down Patrick’s arm.

 

It was a soothing gesture, and Patrick floated in it for a little while, before he mumbled, “We need to talk.”

 

“Tomorrow. Go back to sleep.”

 

“The thing about tomorrow,” Patrick said, forcing himself to wake up a little more, “is it’s the anniversary of Ashley leaving.”

 

Matt was silent for a second. Then he said, “Oh. Okay. So what would you like to do? You and the kids? We should do something special, right? Get your minds off it?”

 

Patrick was suddenly so grateful for Matt he could have cried. He pushed Matt out of his cuddle so he could press his face against him, switching the cuddle direction.

 

“Hey,” Matt said in surprise, and then drew his hands down his back. “I’m right here. I’m not leaving.”

 

“I didn’t think you are, I just…” Patrick took a deep breath. “I love you.”

 

“I love you, too,” Matt replied, and there was no mistaking the contented happiness in his voice. “That’s why we’re getting married. Because we’re a team.”

 

Patrick took another deep breath and admitted, “That was all I wanted from you, fifteen years ago. All I wanted was to be a team. That was all I was asking you for.”

 

He felt Matt take a deep breath underneath him. “I know. I know you were. It’s all I ever wanted in life, to be part of a team, and at the same time I was terrified to actually _do_ it. You made it sound like it was easy, and it wasn’t, for me. It wasn’t.”

 

“I know,” Patrick said. “I know that now. I get it now. I mean, I always got that you’d grown up in this really independent way, never able to rely on anyone, but I think I was too young to realize that that meant that you might have a difficult time relying on me, no matter how much you wanted to. To me it was so obvious that you could rely on me that—I was young. Can we just say that I was young? And so in love with you that I found it hard to be rational, I just wanted you to love me back in the all-encompassing way I loved you.”

 

“I always did,” Matt said.

 

“Yeah. I get that now. Love languages.”

 

“Love languages.”

 

“You can tell me in every song, Matt. You can put it in every single song. I will cherish each and every one.”

 

Matt was silent for a long moment. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” Patrick let his eyes close, feeling unexpectedly better now that he’d gotten to talk to Matt. He’d really missed talking to Matt. “I missed you,” he said drowsily. “You were right here the whole time and I missed you. It was one fucking day. How did I do fifteen years?” He couldn’t conceive of it now.

 

“Willpower,” Matt said. “You’re fucking stubborn.”

 

“Pot, kettle,” said Patrick.

 

“Go to sleep, Trick,” Matt said.

 

***

 

The kids had a list of things to do in Denver a mile long. Matt knew because it had been part of what he’d asked them about when he’d been trying to distract himself. Patrick’s kids were enthusiastic _doers_. It made Matt wonder if he would have classified Patrick as that sort. It made him realize, with a sad pang of regret, that he’d never really asked. They had toured the entire world and they had spent almost zero of that time sightseeing. Matt wasn’t much of a tourist. Matt liked a good meal, or a good store, but he wasn’t a person who was ever going to suggest a trip to a museum.

 

He thought, judging by how fervently Patrick’s kids clamored to go to anything anywhere that had collections of things to look at, that he should have taken Patrick to more museums.

 

“Why are you _awake_?” Patrick demanded as he came out into the living area. “Not even Adam’s awake yet.”

 

“Bach’s awake,” Matt said, as the puppy went bounding over to Patrick with excited yips.

 

“I can see that. Shh,” Patrick said, finally just scooping the puppy up in his arms and then collapsing onto the couch with Matt.

 

“My sleep schedule’s fucked,” Matt told him.

 

“We have a concert tonight,” Patrick reminded him.

 

Matt shrugged. “Adrenaline will kick in. Why are _you_ awake?”

 

Patrick gestured to the window, through which the sun was rising. “Adam will be up in a few minutes anyway. And I was wondering where you were.” Patrick yawned and let Bach bound around on his chest.

 

Matt said, “I should have taken you to more museums.”

 

“Museums?” echoed Patrick blankly.

 

“Your kids _love_ museums. They want to go to see something called the Denver Museum of Miniatures, Dolls, and Toys.”

 

“That sounds kind of creepy,” Patrick remarked.

 

“I thought so, too, but it actually looks really cool. How many museums do you think we can do in one day? We should find out.”

 

“Hey,” Patrick said, and nudged his foot against Matt’s thigh to get his attention.

 

Matt glanced away from his phone.

 

“Thanks,” Patrick said.

 

Matt smiled at him. “Today this is my job.”

 

“How’s your throat?” Patrick asked.

 

“It’s fine. Better than it was in Minneapolis. I’ll go easy on it tonight.”

 

“If you can’t sing,” Patrick said, “fucking talk to me about it instead of freaking me out onstage in front of thousands of people.”

 

“Yeah,” Matt said. “Fair. Sorry about that. Move over, Bach, I need room here.”

 

Bach was joyful as Matt crawled onto Patrick. As far as Bach was concerned, the more, the merrier.

 

Patrick seemed sleepy still, content in silence, carding his hands through Matt’s hair. Matt had let himself collapse last night to catch up on the emotional exhaustion. He didn’t think Patrick had. He was going to watch that as soon as they got through this day.

 

Then Adam started shouting happily and demandingly for the day to begin, and Patrick was up and running.

 

***

 

They managed to hit the zoo, the art museum, the natural history museum, and the museum of miniatures, and the kids had a blast, and Patrick marveled at how well the day went. Matt made a joke out of talking less than usual, doing extravagant mining that made the kids collapse into laughter, and Patrick appreciated the high-energy absurdity Matt was painting the day with. Matt was the _best_. Matt Usher was the _fucking best_. Patrick wanted to write it in the sky.

 

Adam was so exhausted from the day that he was sleeping well before Patrick handed him over to Mrs. Honeycutt, and he left the girls giving a detailed play-by-play of everything to Anna and David and Cora and the Jin kids so that he could find Matt. In the distance, Sean’s band was doing the opening set, the throb of a bass rattling along the hallway, and Patrick tracked Matt down in a back hallway, walking up and down it, warming up his voice, his hands cupped around a mug of hot water.

 

“How’s it going?” Patrick asked when Matt paused. He looked closed-in and anxious but Patrick wasn’t sure if that was for a good reason or just general anxiety after the way Minneapolis had gone.

 

“Fine,” Matt said. “I don’t know. Fine. I think.” Matt sipped his hot water fretfully.

 

Patrick watched him evenly. “You know I can sing, right? You remember that? I’m right there on that stage and I know every word. So nothing about this is a disaster. It’s not all on you.”

 

Matt was silent for a long moment. Then he said, “Yeah, but you’re a terrible singer.”

 

Patrick laughed. “Okay, that’s a good sign, thank you for making fun of me.”

 

Matt smiled. “I think it’s fine. I should be fine. It’s not like this is a thing I have a lot of experience with. I don’t know. I feel like I could hit every single note tonight but I might tone it down and go easy.”

 

“Yes,” Patrick said. “Tone it down and go easy. Matt, they’ve waited fifteen years for you to sing to them.”

 

“I know,” Matt said miserably. “That’s why I don’t want to fuck it up for them.”

 

Patrick shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I meant that they’re going to be so thrilled to death, they’ll accept the live nature of the show. They don’t _want_ it to sound like the album. They’ve had nothing but the album for years now.”

 

Matt, after a moment, nodded. “Yes. You’re right. It’s going to be fine.”

 

“Hey, I talked to Lilah,” Patrick said, as it occurred to him. “She wasn’t sure you’d want to talk, but she says to break a leg. I didn’t want you to think she hadn’t checked in.”

 

Matt nodded again.

 

Patrick said, watching him, “We haven’t gotten to talk about it, because we’ve had a weird couple of days, but I am really happy to marry you.”

 

Matt burst into such a brilliant, blinding smile that Patrick was immediately glad he’d said it. “Really?”

 

“Of course really. You know the night we won a Grammy, and you were clearly off the wall with glee, it was everything you’d ever wanted in life? That’s kind of how I feel about marrying Matt Usher.”

 

Which made Matt go still, and then say after a second, “ _Patrick_.”

 

Patrick lifted a shoulder in a shrug and said, “Also, I think David and Cora want to hire you to provide tourism services for their ki—”

 

Matt shoved Patrick up against the wall and kissed the life out of him, and for a moment Patrick thought, _Wait, we’re in public, what’s he doing, push him away_ , and then realized that this was part of what they needed to talk about, what they did in public, what they _were_ in public, what it meant to be _them_ , and they really needed to _talk_ , and also talk had been a difficult thing these past couple of days, so Patrick was okay, for just this one time, with just closing his hands into Matt’s disheveled suit and pulling him close, mussing him just a bit more.

 

Matt pulled back. The rest of the hallway rushed back into Patrick’s consciousness. Truthfully, no one seemed to be paying them the least amount of attention. Stagehands hurried by them. The bass from the opening set kept up its vague rattle.

 

The world didn’t end.

 

Patrick said that, softly, his voice rough and hoarse. “Look at that. The world didn’t end.”

 

Matt smiled at him and kissed him again, lighter this time, sweeter this time, and then rested his forehead against Patrick’s and breathed.

 

“Fuck,” Patrick said, “did we just ruin your voice?”

 

“It was a kiss, Patrick, you’re so absurd,” Matt said fondly. “It’s fine. I’ll just tell the crowd to give me a second to shake off the effects of making out with you.”

 

Patrick laughed.

 

Matt said, “If I did that, would you be upset?”

 

Patrick said, “They won’t believe you. They’ll think you’re joking.”

 

“That didn’t answer my question.”

 

“Matt, all the flirting you do with me onstage, you think that’s going to be the thing that pushes me over the edge?”

 

“I’m just checking. We need to have a talk about all of that onstage flirting, so that I know where I—”

 

“Matt.” Patrick put his hands in Matt’s collar just to hold him still, to keep his focus. “You know where you stand with me. If I didn’t like the banter onstage, I would have said it _so_ much earlier. I have never been upset with that. Go and be Matt Usher out there. I _love_ that version of Matt Usher. I just also love this one. Okay?”

 

Matt, after a second, nodded.

 

***

 

Matt opened slightly subdued, keeping _Wild Ride_ in check, as he felt his voice out, but by the time he reached the end of the song, he seemed to relax into it, seemed more confident of where he was, and at the end of it he performed an extravagant bow and leaned toward the microphone.

 

“Good evening, Denver,” he said, crooning it the way a lover would instead of shouting it out the way he usually did. It was, because he was Matt, outrageously seductive, and Patrick smiled as he adjusted his perch on the piano bench. “I am relieved to get through that song, because my voice has been a bit on the rough side. So I am going to spend the evening whispering sweet nothings to you through this microphone rather than shouting, what do you think?”

 

The crowd’s roared approval back at him.

 

Matt glanced over at Patrick. “What do you think, Trick? Sweet nothings for the evening?”

 

“Your area of expertise, I would say,” Patrick demurred into the microphone.

 

Matt grinned and looked back out at the audience. “Everyone, please blame Patrick for all of my vocal issues. I can’t help it that he leaves me breathless.”

 

The crowd basically swooned. Patrick didn’t blame them.

 

***

 

They were having an incredible show. Rachel, watching from the sidelines, was impressed. You would never have thought that Matt had spent the past few days in crisis. They looked crisp and professional, and if Matt’s voice was a little less rambunctious than it usually was, it didn’t matter, because he’d charmed the crowd into thinking it was a special experience to have less than Matt Usher’s best.

 

Rachel was impressed.

 

Carmen came up and stood just behind her, and Rachel knew she was supposed to turn and talk to her, but Rachel also didn’t want to, so Rachel was being petulant and childish and anyway, she was _working_.

 

Carmen hissed, “Rachel.”

 

“Shh,” Rachel replied. “I’m working.”

 

Rachel could _hear_ Carmen’s eyeroll. “You’re not working. _They’re_ working. Your job is just to stand here.”

 

Rachel turned to face her, since Carmen clearly wasn’t going to go away. “Matt lost his voice last concert. I’m trying to make sure he’s okay for this one. This isn’t exactly your usual, run-of-the-mill concert, now is it?”

 

“Oh, please,” Carmen spat out. “You’ve been avoiding me ever since your little hissy-fit in the hallway the other night.”

 

Rachel, aware that now they were attracting attention, took Carmen’s arm and walked her back into the venue, out of view of the stage. “I didn’t have a hissy-fit,” Rachel said.

 

“Then what would _you_ call it?” Carmen demanded. “This is just like the fit you threw when you ran away from the piano. You _do_ this, you know, go wildly off the deep end and freeze up in isolation.”

 

“Wow,” Rachel said. “This is a very different tune than the one you were singing when I ran away from the piano. I recall you saying that was a _good_ hissy-fit.”

 

“Yeah,” Carmen retorted. “Because I thought at the time that it seemed like the first time in your life you’d ever really listened to yourself, and what _you_ wanted to do. But instead what you did was run away and keep yourself busy doing something else instead of ever talking about it or thinking about it and you took the piano, this thing you loved, and you punished it for who-knows-what reason, it existed only in your head—”

 

“Wait,” Rachel cut in, blinking at Carmen. “Hang on.”

 

Carmen did stop talking. And then she lifted her eyebrows at Rachel. “ _What_?”

 

“Do you think I do that? I do do that.” Rachel had never thought about it so clearly. “I run away from the things that I love. I don’t… I don’t let myself love them.”

 

Carmen gave her an unimpressed look. “Yeah. You _definitely_ do that. And you know what? You’re so caught up in this whole Mattrick saga and where you play into it, and I already know the answer to it: You’re nowhere near it. Because of all the things those two fucked up – and it was apparently _a lot_ of things – their problem was never being too scared to love each other. They loved each other with such a wild abandon it ended up destroying them. They _love_. I’m not sure you ever have.”

 

Carmen turned on her heels and marched away and Rachel blinked after her, feeling too stunned to move, feeling like she’d just been knocked over.

 

On stage, Matt Usher was singing about losing his head.  

 

 

_Phoenix_

 

Matt had a scheme. He pushed Patrick onto the bed after the Denver concert and took him apart, slow and gentle, trying to say _thank you thank you thank you for everything for being you for every moment of my life since I met you_ , with every kiss, every touch, every breath. He put Patrick very soundly to sleep, and he intended to let him sleep in and catch up while Matt took care of things, and then once they got to Phoenix, they’d finally _talk_. He wanted to talk about getting married. He wanted to talk about being public. He wanted to talk about _the rest of their lives_.

 

His scheme did not go according to plan.

 

Well, the sex went phenomenally to plan. And then Matt fell asleep and slept unexpectedly soundly, waking late, well after the day had started, well after Patrick had handled everything. And then they were on the bus.

 

And the kids were difficult on the bus. Adam was whiney and displeased over everything, no matter what Patrick did to try to keep him entertained, and that crankiness seemed to extend to the rest of the kids, and the bus ride to Phoenix seemed to be an interminable exercise in Patrick making threats about complaining and the kids growing progressively sulkier. Patrick was tired, Matt could tell, rundown, reaching the end of his enormous reserve of patience, and that was exactly why Matt had intended to let Patrick be the one to rest today, and instead Patrick had done all the work and was doing more of it, on a bus whose environment was quickly spiraling out of control.

 

Matt tried to be a distraction, launching into a long card tournament with the kids, but the mood on the bus remained snappish and out-of-sorts, probably because Adam kept squalling from the bedroom.

 

When they finally reached the hotel in Phoenix, Rachel came onto the bus and began, “So—”

 

“How many fans?” Matt asked without preamble.

 

“Just a few. Not many.”

 

“Tell them no signing today. Give them VIP passes.” At Patrick’s surprised look he said, “We’re cocooning?”

 

“Cocooning?” Patrick echoed.

 

“Yup. Like we used to. We’re going to get into that hotel room and hunker down and not leave.” Matt took Adam out of Patrick’s arms. “What’s up with you today, kiddo, hmm? You’ve worn your dad out.”

 

“I think not _entirely_ like we used to,” said Patrick, who had clearly been mulling over the cocooning idea.

 

“Gross,” said Kylie, with an eyeroll, on her way off the bus.

 

“We used to be excited to have groupies, remember?” Matt remarked, as he and Patrick exited. “That all seems so long ago.”

 

“When were we excited to have groupies?” Patrick asked. “ _You_ were excited to have groupies.”

 

Matt glanced at Patrick. Patrick, who had never wanted anyone but Matt, and instead Matt had given an entire planet full of people. He said, “Yeah. You’re right. I was under the impression it would be cool to have groupies. Groupies were way overrated.”

 

Patrick snorted. “Ah, perspective.”

 

“Wasn’t Mom a groupie?” Miranda asked, as they entered the hotel. “Mom told us that’s how she met you. Basically following the band around.”

 

“Like a stalker,” said Kylie, as she walked onto the elevator Rachel was holding for them.

 

“Kylie,” Patrick said, sternly and exhausted.

 

“She liked our music,” Matt said. “She wasn’t inappropriate about it.” Matt changed the subject, because Rachel was obviously avidly eavesdropping. “Everything clean and smooth with the venue?”

 

“Yes,” Rachel confirmed, trying to look nothing but businesslike.

 

Matt quirked a knowing smile at her.

 

Once they were in the suite, once Matt had closed the door on her, Matt turned to Patrick and said, “Okay, bed for you.”

 

Patrick looked at him, startled. So did the girls. “What?”

 

“Bed,” Matt repeated firmly. “I’ve kept you up with worry, we’ve all run you ragged the past few days, you’ve never let yourself push through the adrenaline crash from the whole mess onstage after I lost my voice, you’re going to bed early tonight and you’re not objecting. Everyone say, ‘Good night, Dad.’”

 

“Good night, Dad,” the girls chorused.

 

Adam cried.

 

“See?” Matt said. “Everyone agrees with me. Bed.” He physically propelled Patrick into the bedroom with a series of shoves.

 

“Matt,” Patrick said, “you don’t have to do this, I think Adam might be coming down with something, he’s been so fussy all day, it’s so much for you to—”

 

“Patrick, you haven’t given a single thought to your own well-being in days. I can watch your kids for a night. Trust me.” Adam was still fussing half-heartedly in Matt’s arms, but Matt still managed to pull the sheets down on the bed.

 

Patrick said, “It’s not that I don’t trust you to watch the kids, it’s—”

 

“It’s that everyone in the universe thinks I’m the control freak in the band when it’s totally you,” Matt finished. “Get in bed.” He nodded toward the bed.

 

Patrick, after a moment, did get into bed, which betrayed how exhausted he actually was. “Matt,” he said, looking up at him, “if Adam—”

 

“Say good night to Daddy,” Matt told Adam, holding him out over Patrick.

 

Adam dutifully kissed Patrick’s cheek.

 

“Okay,” said Matt, “now I’m going to go teach the girls how to play with fire.”

 

“You’re not funny,” Patrick told him. “Get out.”

 

Matt laughed and kissed Patrick because he couldn’t resist. Then he went out to the living room, closing the bedroom door behind him, and looked at the three girls.

 

“So,” Kylie said, “what are we going to do all night?”

 

***

 

What they did was go down to the hotel restaurant to eat, because Matt was feeling cooped up and he thought maybe the kids were, too, and that had been part of the problem in the bus today. He left a note for Patrick and took the kids downstairs. He considered calling Anna and David but then the group would have swelled and definitely called attention to itself, and Matt was tired enough not to feel like dealing with fans. And the hotel was anxious to please them and gave them a table in a dim corner and Matt thought they might have been recognized but the hotel kept everyone away from them. He was going to have to come down and sign tomorrow or something, just as a thank-you.

 

The girls seemed happy with the distraction, and Matt thought this had been a good idea. He let them order virgin pina coladas if they agreed to eat some vegetables with their unhealthy hamburgers they all ordered. Adam still seemed fussier than usual but at least he also looked happy to be looking at some new people.

 

Miranda sighed heavily and said, “Touring kind of sucks, huh?”

 

“You hit a point on every tour when you’re tired of the road,” Matt said. “We were due for that. We’re almost done now.”

 

“Are we going to do this every summer, do you think?” asked Kylie.

 

Matt considered her. “Would you like that?” asked Matt.

 

“It’s better than summer camp,” Kylie said emphatically.

 

Matt chuckled. “Does your dad make you go to summer camp?”

 

All three girls gave him long-suffering looks.

 

Matt laughed. “Christ, that’s the most Patrick thing I’ve ever heard. He probably thinks it’s what all wholesome kids do in the summer.”

 

“It’s _awful_ ,” said Miranda. “It is literally the worst thing in the universe.”

 

“He means well,” Matt said fondly.

 

“He always does,” Kylie agreed. “But summer camp is awful.”

 

“Can you save us from summer camp?” Miranda asked.

 

“Maybe. I don’t know. I’ll talk to your dad about it. What do you say about summer camp, Hailey?”

 

“Was Mom really a stalker?” asked Hailey.

 

Matt stilled, caught utterly by surprise.

 

“ _Hailey_ ,” Kylie chided her.

 

“God,” Miranda huffed.

 

“Hey,” Matt said sharply, because Hailey looked both stubborn and scared all at once.

 

Adam threw his sippy cup to the floor dramatically. Retrieving it gave Matt a little bit of time to consider an answer. Then the waitress arrived with their food, which gave him even more time.

 

The kids were very silent as they dug into their hamburgers. Adam smushed a French fry happily.

 

Matt said, “Um.”

 

“You don’t have to talk about her,” Hailey said glumly, “if you don’t want to.”

 

Matt didn’t want to talk about Ashley, ever. But he recognized that he should answer questions honestly. These were kids who were curious, not, he guessed, because Patrick hadn’t told them this story, but because they didn’t trust Patrick’s generous assessment of their mother.

 

Matt said, “No. I mean. Look. She wasn’t a stalker. She liked the band. She went to a bunch of shows. But it wasn’t like… We weren’t worried about her. It wasn’t inappropriate. She was around. She met your dad. They…” Matt didn’t even know how to characterize Patrick and Ashley. Until the day he’d heard Patrick had married her, Matt hadn’t even thought Patrick _liked_ Ashley. “She wasn’t a stalker,” he finished awkwardly.

 

There was a long moment of silence. Matt felt like the girls were weirdly inscrutable, which felt unusual for him, because they were ordinarily so very Patrick to him that he could read them easily. But their Patrick eyes were flat now, holding secrets in, and he was reminded that they were all their own people, and he could only hope to be let in enough to understand all of them.

 

Hailey said suddenly, with a fierce passion, “I _like_ being out on tour. It’s been, like, family time all the time. We never did stuff like go to museums and stay in hotels and have virgin pina coladas. This is way better.”

 

“She’s right,” agreed Kylie after a moment. “It’s just gone on for a long time.”

 

“Also,” said Miranda, “Sean got a girlfriend.”

 

“Shut up,” said Kylie, flushing.

 

“I shall have to have a talk with the young man,” said Matt with mock sternness.

 

“Oh, my God, please don’t, I will _die_ ,” said Kylie fervently.

 

“Kylie.” Matt smiled at her. “Honestly, I have no desire to make your life terrible. I just want to give you everything you could possibly want in the entire universe.”

 

“You’re really bad at this,” Miranda told him. “Parents aren’t supposed to admit that.”

 

“How absurd,” Matt said. “That’s the most ridiculous rule I’d ever heard. Do you know what a difference it must make to know your parents want you to be the happiest person in the universe? Do you know how much your father and I would be better adjusted human beings today if we’d had parents who’d made that clear to us?”

 

“But then you wouldn’t have ended up together,” Hailey pointed out frankly.

 

Matt, distracting Adam with a few more French fries, said, “What?”

 

“Yeah, you’d be different people,” Kylie agreed. “You had to be exactly who you were to fit each other the way you did.”

 

Matt paused and thought this over, then said, “Okay. You have a point. But that doesn’t mean I want to send you out into the world poorly adjusted in the hope you’ll meet someone poorly adjusted in a way that complements yours. Let’s aim at turning the lot of you into functioning adults.”

 

Adam smashed some French fry into his hair and giggled.

 

“Good luck with him,” said Hailey.

 

***

 

Adam was fussy, and Matt walked him around the suite and sang to him a _lot_. He probably shouldn’t be singing so much but he didn’t know what else to do, and he didn’t want to have to wake Patrick up. Eventually Adam fell fitfully asleep, and Matt, trying to ignore the raspy protest in his throat, checked on the girls. Hailey and Miranda were both knocked out. Matt gestured to his watch for Kylie’s benefit, and she nodded.

 

Patrick was sleeping so soundly he was actually snoring into his pillow. Matt hesitated, then forced himself to take a scaldingly hot shower, letting the steam build up in the bathroom and soothe his throat. He did feel better when he was done, as he crawled into bed next to Patrick, who was no longer snoring. In fact, Patrick stirred and said his name muzzily.

 

“Shh,” Matt said. “Go back to sleep.”

 

“How are the kids?” Patrick asked, edging closer to Matt.

 

“Fine. Sleeping. They’re fine.”

 

Patrick’s eyes fluttered open and he sent him a sleepy smile. “Matt Usher.”

 

“Live and in person,” said Matt.

 

“You’re a very attractive man, you know,” said Patrick.

 

“Are you sleep-talking right now?” asked Matt.

 

Patrick’s smile grew wider and a little sharper. “You’ve got beautiful eyes, like, really incredible eyes, you like to keep them behind closed doors because they’re too beautiful to be looked at too much, you know, they’re gorgeous eyes.”

 

“Okay,” Matt agreed, bewildered.

 

“You’ve got very sexy hair,” Patrick continued, reaching out and ruffling it. His voice was low and rough with sleep and his hands tugging through Matt’s hair made Matt’s eyes close involuntarily.

 

“So they tell me,” he managed.

 

“And your voice is, like, magic. Millions of people would whisper that in your ear if you let them.” Patrick leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “Your voice is magic.”

 

“What is happening right now?” asked Matt breathlessly. “Not that I want to protest your apparently irresistible urge to list my best features, but…”

 

Patrick laughed. “I am listing all of your best features so that I can tell you that by far – _by far_ – the sexiest thing you have ever, _ever_ done is taking the kids for me tonight so I could sleep.”

 

Matt laughed into the kiss Patrick gave him, joyful and sweet, and then said fondly, “Go back to sleep, Trick.”

 

“Hmm,” Patrick said, settling his head onto Matt’s shoulder. “In a minute. First let me…” His hand snuck its way into Matt’s boxers, laser-focused and inexorable.

 

“Okay,” Matt said carefully, as Patrick stroked him into full interest. “You don’t need to…” Patrick’s hand did that thing that made Matt gasp and say, “Fuck.”

 

“No, that would require energy,” Patrick said. “Meanwhile, I can jerk you off automatically at this point.”

 

“Wow,” said Matt, “that is super hot dirty talk, tell me more.”

 

Patrick laughed and withdrew his hand to lick a strip up his palm, and Matt couldn’t deny the fact that his cock still managed to twist at the idea of it. “How about instinctively?” said Patrick. “Is that better?” His hand went to work and he tipped his head so he could croon into Matt’s ear. “I can jerk you off instinctively, the way you gasp is ingrained in my DNA at this point, you’re a song I could play in my sleep, not because I don’t love it but because I love it too much. You know. _That_ kind of song.”

 

Patrick’s strokes were long and languid around Matt, and Matt fisted his hands into the sheets under him and jerked up to meet them, to try to get him to move faster.

 

“Uh-uh,” Patrick said, and bit his earlobe. “I’m taking my time with you here. We’re having a nice, sleepy handjob, wouldn’t you say?”

 

“Christ,” Matt replied, drowning in the thick languorous honey of Patrick’s relentless touch.

 

“I don’t want it quick and sharp,” Patrick murmured. “I want to utterly overwhelm you. I want it to drag you under. I want you to barely know when you hit your climax, because it’s just the whole thing.”

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” said Matt meaningfully, twisting into Patrick’s touch.

 

“Let me drag you under,” whispered Patrick, and Matt couldn’t think to reply, felt beyond words, felt beyond anything but the waves of pleasure lapping at him, the entire world was Patrick and the way he could _do_ this, the way he could do it _half-asleep_.

 

Just as Patrick promised, Matt wasn’t even sure when or how he climaxed, just that he did because he was sticky and sated and thoroughly exhausted, heavy with the force of the pleasure. Patrick, effortlessly, absently hot, licked up his hand and then Matt’s stomach, and then said, “Okay. Back to sleep,” and rolled away from him and started snoring again almost immediately.

 

Matt stared at Patrick’s back and then couldn’t help that he started laughing. He felt like he laughed himself to sleep.

 

***

 

Matt woke to an empty bed and an unhappy throat and whispered, “Fuck” into his pillow in annoyance. Then he got up and showered and felt marginally better afterward. And then he went out into the suite, where Patrick and Adam were alone, Patrick sprawled out on the couch with Adam napping on him.

 

“He’s asleep?” Matt said in surprise. “And where’s everyone else?”

 

“Anna came by when Adam was making such a fuss that she offered to keep the girls occupied and I seized the opportunity.” Patrick sounded exhausted again, which was another thing for Matt to be annoyed about, because he’d just spent the entire previous day trying to fix that. “We’ve got a situation,” Patrick continued.

 

“What situation?”

 

“Adam’s sick. He woke up in the night with a fever.”

 

Matt blinked in alarm and looked at the baby snuffling on Patrick’s chest. “Oh, no. What should we do for him? Should we find a doctor?”

 

Patrick smiled at him. “No. It’s fine. He’s a baby. They get fevers. It’s not a high fever. He’s just out-of-sorts.”

 

Matt felt a little mocked, which he disliked. “Well, how am I supposed to know?” he grumbled.

 

“No.” Patrick shook his head. “I’m not being… I think it’s incredibly sweet of you, how much effort you went to yesterday, and he must have been difficult yesterday if he was getting sick.”

 

“He was fine,” Matt said, and sat on the floor by the couch because he wanted to be near Patrick. “I woke up in a bad mood. Don’t mind me.”

 

“After all the effort I went to to put you in a good mood?” said Patrick.

 

“Shut up,” Matt said wearily, tipping his head back onto the couch behind him, “you were half-asleep the whole time.”

 

Patrick chuckled and took Matt’s wordless invitation, putting his fingers in Matt’s hair and combing through it gently. “You okay? You seem not okay.”

 

Matt considered, then said, “My instinct is to tell you that I’m fine, because you’ve got Adam to worry about and I _am_ fine. But then that seems like the kind of thing that’s going to get us into trouble later so I’ll be honest with you.”

 

“Yes,” Patrick said gravely. “This is a good thought process you’re having here.”

 

“My throat isn’t right,” Matt said. “My _voice_ isn’t right. I haven’t tried to sing but I know it wouldn’t be right if I did.”

 

“Maybe you’re getting sick,” Patrick suggested. “Adam’s sick.”

 

“Maybe, but that doesn’t feel right, either. It feels…dry. Like it’s dry.”

 

There was a long moment of silence.

 

Then Patrick said gently, “Matt. We’re in the desert.”

 

***

 

Patrick sent Matt off to a sauna.

 

“A _sauna_ ,” Matt said. “Do I seem like a sauna type of guy to you?”

 

“You need humidity,” Patrick told him. “The doctor said you needed to stay hydrated.”

 

“That means drinking lots of water,” Matt pointed out.

 

“We’re trying to keep your throat from being dry. It’s dry right now because we’re in a desert. You can drink lots of water, and you can go to a sauna to help the natural process along.”

 

Matt looked miserable at the prospect. “What am I going to _do_ in a sauna?”

 

“I hear they’re a great place for a hook-up,” suggested Patrick.

 

“I don’t want to have a hook-up in a sauna,” Matt complained. “I’m going to be all hot and sweaty, I don’t want people touching me.”

 

“You’re going to feel better when you’re done with the sauna,” Patrick promised him, with a confidence he hoped was deserved.

 

“Am I?” whined Matt.

 

Patrick looked at him, sulky and distressed. He looked remarkably like Adam, who was wearing a similarly displeased expression in Patrick’s arms. Patrick had a lot of unhappy people around him at the moment.

 

Patrick did what he would have done to Adam, and pulled Matt in to kiss his forehead. “Listen to me, okay?” he whispered into his ear. “You’re going to be fine. I promise. It’s going to be okay.”

 

Matt took a deep breath and said, “I’m going to take you at face value right now.”

 

“Good,” Patrick said. “Do that. And go to the sauna.”

 

Once Matt was off, Patrick took Adam’s temperature again, was pleased that it was remaining normal so long after his last dose of Tylenol, and went in search of Rachel.

 

When Rachel answered the door for him, Patrick was ready to say _hello_ but Rachel said immediately, “Do you think I run away from the things I love?”

 

Patrick was caught completely unprepared for that question. “Um,” he said. “I’m not sure I know you well enough to—”

 

“It’s true I ran away from the piano. You never ran away from the piano.”

 

“My relationship with the piano is not fraught. You and Matt have this really intense attitude toward the piano, but it’s just a musical instrument—”

 

“Just a musical instrument?!” Rachel exclaimed, clearly appalled by him.

 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s a beautiful musical instrument, I love it, I love every moment I spend playing it, but you and Matt are so… Matt uses the piano to process. And I get it, that’s useful, but it’s not instinctive for me. And I think you would also use it that way, but you’ve been avoiding it because, I don’t know, you—”

 

“Push away the things I love,” said Rachel, stricken. “Push away the things that would make me happy. Maybe I’m purposely sabotaging myself. Maybe I don’t allow myself to give myself the things that would make me happy.”

 

Patrick paused. He honestly had no idea what was going on here, because he really didn’t know Rachel well enough to help her make these assessments about her life. But she was also plainly in distress, and he didn’t want to ignore that fact. So he said carefully, “Well. If that’s true, now that you’ve realized it, you should stop. Right?”

 

It seemed like such an obvious point to Patrick but Rachel stared at him in astonishment. “That’s true. I could stop doing that. I could… _stop_. But what would that mean? That would mean I would have to start doing something different. Hmm.” Rachel bit her lip, looking thoughtful, and then shook herself. “Sorry, you probably came here for something and then I freaked out at you in a completely unprofessional way. This entire Swan thing has just made me…very unprofessional.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Patrick said. “Matt can have that effect on people.” Patrick wasn’t sure how true that was – he’d never stopped to think about it before – but Matt had the sort of personality you could blame anything on. He was handy that way.

 

Rachel took a deep breath and said, “I’m okay. I promise. What can I do for you?” She smiled at Patrick, and then at the baby in his arms.

 

“I ordered us a humidifier, from one of the local stores. They’re having it delivered. But I know you’ve got the front desk monitoring deliveries, so I wanted you to let them know that the humidifier is coming.”

 

Rachel frowned. “A humidifier?”

 

“Matt’s having trouble with how dry the air is. So is Adam, frankly. I think the humidifier will do them both good. We can take it to Vegas with us, too.”

 

“Okay,” Rachel said slowly. “Should I be worried about Matt’s voice?”

 

“Nope,” Patrick said heartily. “We’ve got it covered.”

 

***

 

Matt did feel better after the sauna. Well, he felt sweaty and gross and disgusting but his throat felt almost back to normal (or at least his dim recollection of what normal had been).

 

He went back up to the hotel room, where Patrick was sitting in the living area reading something.

 

“Where is everyone?” Matt asked.

 

“The kids are at the venue early. Anna bribed them or something. Adam’s finally sleeping soundly.”

 

“How is he?”

 

“I think he’s better.” Patrick fixed him with a look. “How are you?”

 

“Also better,” Matt said. “You were right about the sauna.”

 

“I love it when I’m right,” said Patrick with a smile.

 

“You’re almost always right and you know it. Come take a shower with me so I can properly reward you.”

 

“In a second,” Patrick said, standing. “First, I have something to show you.”

 

“Something better than your penis?” asked Matt.

 

“You know, I think I keep the kids around just to discourage you from saying awful things like that,” remarked Patrick, leading Matt by the hand over to the room where Adam was sleeping. He nudged the door open and gestured to the humidifier humming in the corner. “Ta-da!”

 

“What’s that?” asked Matt curiously.

 

“A humidifier. Adam’s borrowing it right now, but I got it for you, because this desert air is bothering you, and the humidifier will help.”

 

Matt looked at the humidifier, feeling helplessly in love. “Trick,” he said. “you didn’t have to. But you are the _best_.” He leaned forward and just hugged him, tight and close, nose in his neck, _loving_ him.

 

“You were too caught up in your own head to realize what a simple solution you needed,” Patrick said, and then, after a moment, “You _are_ particularly gross and sweaty right now, you really need that shower.”

 

Matt laughed.

 

***

 

Matt watched the opening band’s set for the first time all tour. He hadn’t been trying to be rude about it, and he’d seen bits and pieces of it, he’d just had an eventful, stressful tour and he’d never found a place to slip in and watch the whole set. As he sat and watched it now, he knew why he’d been avoiding it. The band was good, and Sean was a good frontman, genial and comfortable with the crowd, charming and alluring. And he looked impossibly young. And Matt felt impossibly old.

 

It all felt like it was yesterday to Matt, Swan’s first run at fame and fortune, the way he would get high off the crowds shouting their words, shouting for _them_. It felt like yesterday…and like a million years ago.

 

Sean shouted into the crowd, “Are we having a good time? Are we excited for Swan coming up?”

 

The crowd roared in reaction, which made sense, most of them were there for Swan, after all.

 

“Yeah, they put on a fantastic show, you’re in for a treat. In the meantime.” Sean glanced back at his band. “How many more have we got?”

 

***

 

“How many more have we got?” asked Matt, sprawled out on the floor of the bus. He had no idea where they were – somewhere in Europe, he was reliably told – and he had no idea where they were going, how long they were stuck on this bus together until they got there. He just knew that he had decided to have an existential crisis on the floor of the bus.

 

“That floor is filthy,” Patrick said pragmatically. “Get up.”

 

Matt ignored him. “How many more have we got? What do you think?”

 

“How many more what?” asked Patrick. “I’m not following your thought process.”

 

“How many more hit songs?”

 

Patrick was silent, which didn’t help Matt’s existential crisis.

 

“The thing is,” Matt said, looking up at the roof of the bus over him, “we’ve had a pretty exceptional run, right? Hit songs pouring out of us. What if we run out?”

 

“Why would we run out?” asked Patrick finally, flatly.

 

Matt looked at him, surprised by his tone. _He_ was the one in existential crisis, Patrick was supposed to be soothing, not angry. “I don’t know. Why wouldn’t we? Artistic inspiration is inexplicable, isn’t it? Muses come and go.”

 

Patrick regarded him, his gray-green eyes inscrutable. “Muses come and go,” he repeated.

 

“Yes?” offered Matt, confused.

 

“See,” said Patrick, “I wasn’t worried about our ability to write songs going away, because I kind of assumed we were each other’s muses. Aren’t we?”

 

“Oh,” said Matt, sitting up. “Yes. Of course. That’s not what I meant.”

 

“And who gives a fuck,” said Patrick.

 

“Who gives a fuck about what?” asked Matt slowly.

 

“Whether we ever make another hit song again. We’ve had this moment, it’s better than the vast majority of bands have, and even if it all goes away tomorrow, we have each other.” Patrick paused, then asked challengingly, “Don’t we?”

 

“Yes,” Matt said, bewildered. “Of course we have each other. But.” Matt pinched at the bridge of his nose. He felt thrown by this entire conversation. He’d just meant to sulk a little bit about feeling desultory about the song they were working on, and for Patrick to pet him out of it. “I’ve, like, done something wrong here.”

 

“No,” Patrick clipped out. “You haven’t.”

 

“Yes,” said Matt. “I very obviously have.” He crawled over to the couch where Patrick was sitting and pulled himself up onto it.

 

“You just think about Swan _so_ much more than I think about Swan,” said Patrick.

 

“What?” said Matt. “I’m…sure that’s not true.”

 

Patrick gave him that look he gave him that made him feel like he’d just said something very untrue and only Patrick knew how untrue it was. He said, “You love Swan more than I love Swan.”

 

Matt turned that over in his head, because he’d never thought of it that way before. “Okay,” he allowed. “Maybe. Yes. But.” Matt tipped his head, studying Patrick. “I don’t love Swan more than I love you.”

 

Patrick just looked at him.

 

“ _Patrick_ ,” said Matt, stricken. “You can’t possibly believe that. What gives you that impression? What have I done to—I mean, I was just being sulky just now. I was just being melodramatic. I never think that—Like—I don’t know what to do to—I’ve always loved you more than I know what to do with. That’s _why_ I write music for you. You know that. Don’t you know that? Patrick.”

 

Patrick closed his eyes and sighed. “I know that. I know that. I do.”

 

Matt didn’t believe him, which was stunning. He didn’t believe that Patrick knew Matt loved him. What was even to be _done_ about that? For four years of his life loving Patrick had been the one constant. Yes, in that time Swan had exploded into international popularity but his true north had always been Patrick. He couldn’t believe Patrick couldn’t see that. He’d written him countless songs telling him that.

 

Patrick opened his eyes and looked at him, which was when Matt realized he’d spent the past few minutes just silently gaping at him.

 

“Look at you,” Patrick said, with a rueful smile. “I’ve shocked you into silence. Always a rare turn of events.”

 

“I…” Matt didn’t know what to say. “Patrick. You’re the most important person in my universe. I just… _Patrick_.”

 

“Sometimes I think,” Patrick said carefully, “that being the most important person in your universe isn’t saying much, to a person as independent as you are.”

 

Matt stared at him. “Okay,” he said, “this is just… This tour has messed with your head. When this tour is over, I’m taking you somewhere amazing and resetting you.”

 

“Resetting me?” echoed Patrick.

 

“ _Reminding_ you. I might not always be great at it, but I’ve always loved you.”

 

“I know,” said Patrick, and sighed. “When the tour is over, right?”

 

“When the tour is over,” Matt promised. “We’re almost done now. Then we’ll take a break.”

 

***

 

Patrick slid into the seat next to him, while Matt was leaned forward, arms resting on the balustrade in front of him and lips pressed into his arms, watching Sean and his band and thinking about being fifteen years younger.

 

Matt gave him a sideways look before glancing back to the stage.

 

“Do you miss it?” Patrick asked suddenly.

 

“Miss what?”

 

“Being young,” said Patrick simply.

 

Matt laughed. “No. Not even a little.” He paused, considering. “I mean, I guess I miss it because I wish I could go back and make different choices but then we wouldn’t… You wouldn’t have the kids, first of all. And I’m not sure I wouldn’t have fucked it up anyway. So. No, I don’t miss it. It was fun at the time, and then I hated it later.”

 

There was a moment of silence, then Patrick said, “I’m sorry I ever made you hate it. They were good times. We had good times. And you took this ramshackle band and made it an international sensation, and I don’t think I ever let you enjoy it, what you had accomplished. I’m sorry for that. You were fucking astonishing, Matt. Every minute of your life you’ve been fucking astonishing.”

 

Matt shook his head a bit. “I don’t know. Winning a Grammy was easy. The rest of it was hard. I think I’m wired differently from everybody else. If life was nothing but music, I would have fucking aced it.” Matt turned his head to rest his cheek on his arms and look at Patrick. “I never loved Swan more than you. Ever. To me you were Swan, and Swan was you. It wasn’t a competition. There wasn’t a Swan without you. Swan was for you. I know you didn’t want it, not the way I did, but it was for you.”

 

“I never thought you loved Swan more than you loved me,” Patrick said quizzically.

 

“Yes, you did,” said Matt, exasperated. “We had an entire argument about it.”

 

“Did we?” Patrick looked genuinely perplexed.

 

“Yes. On the Charm Offensive tour. You were—”

 

“I was having a slow-motion nervous breakdown on that tour, Matt. I mean, I thought I made that obvious with my behavior.”

 

“I knew you were having a hard time. I didn’t get it.” Matt looked back at the stage, blowing out an irritated exhale. “I didn’t realize how thin the ice under us was. I thought you were being unreasonable.”

 

“I was being a stupid kid,” Patrick said. “With too much fame I wasn’t prepared for.”

 

Matt took a deep breath and watched the band.

 

Patrick said, “Are you okay?”

 

“I was a singer before I was anything,” Matt said dully. “I was a singer before I knew what singing was. My mother used to sing to me. It’s the only good memory I really have of her, that she used to sing, she could sing, and… I opened my mouth, and there was a voice, and I used it. I fucking used every iota of this voice I had. But I took it for granted. I thought it was always going to be there. I didn’t take care of it. I treated it poorly. And it would serve me right if it just…goes away.”

 

“It’s not going to go away,” Patrick said gently.

 

Matt didn’t say _You don’t know that_. He felt that was obvious.

 

“How does it feel now?” Patrick asked.

 

“Good, actually. Maybe better than it’s felt in a while. I can’t tell anymore. I’m just _saying_ , like, sorry, I’ve got a lot running through my head and one of the things is that when I was Sean’s age I thought it was always going to be that easy. You open your mouth and the note you want comes out of it. You fall in love with your piano player and he’ll just be there for the rest of your life. It all seemed easy.”

 

“That’s why young people are bad at appreciating it,” Patrick pointed out.

 

“I don’t know who I am if I’m not a singer,” Matt admitted, looking over at Patrick. “I’ve been a singer for so long. It’s been me for so long. I’m sorry I’m being so morose about this right now but…what am I without my voice?”

 

Patrick smiled at him, soft and gentle, and then tangled a hand gently into Matt’s hair. “You’re Matt. That’s who you are. I know you’ve always been a singer in your head, I know that’s always how you’ve thought of yourself. But that’s never how I’ve thought of you. You’ve always first and foremost been Matt. I know exactly who you are. That’s who I fell in love with. It wasn’t Matt the Singer. It was Matt.”

 

Matt looked at Patrick and thought of that day on that tour bus in some country Matt still didn’t know, of being morose over losing music, and of Patrick being bewildered to the point of anger at Matt’s fixation on that. Patrick was right that he had never loved Swan as much as Matt did, because Matt had used music as a substitute for _life_. Music was the only thing he’d had to depend on for so long that he had always been terrified of losing it, without realizing that he’d gained something else entirely to depend on. No wonder Patrick had been frustrated, Matt thought. Patrick had been _right there_ , and Matt had been fretting about losing the wrong vital support.

 

“You never wanted anyone but me,” Matt said in wonder, as the full impact burst over him. “I was always just enough for you. I have always surrounded us with people, and you were happy with just the two of us in a room together, locked in with a piano. That’s everything you ever wanted.”

 

“It sounds like heaven,” Patrick agreed. “I’d miss my kids, though.”

 

“We can take them with us this time around,” Matt said.

 

Patrick looked at him for a second, and then he smiled. “Matt.” He leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “I appreciate the gesture so much. As you know. But we’re sitting on an entire album worth of songs, and eventually there’d be two albums, and then three. We’re Swan, and it’s not a bad thing. Let’s share them with the world.”

 

Matt considered, but before he could say anything, Patrick said, “You’re going to have the voice for it. Trust me. You’re going to have the voice for it.”

 

***

 

Matt stood in the darkness of the stage and crooned _Wild Ride_ ’s opening notes into the microphone. And they were there. The notes were there. They ran out over the venue. The crowd cheered in response. Matt took a deep breath and tested it, belted out the next line, and his voice soared and filled the venue, tossed higher and higher on the cheers of the crowd, and Matt wanted to curl up and weep with happiness. Instead he grinned and shouted out to the crowd, “Hello, Phoenix! We’re Swan!”

 

They cheered wildly in response.

 

Matt looked at Patrick, who added a little flourish to his piano-playing and winked at him.

 

***

 

Carmen was watching the concert from the side of the stage when Rachel came up to her.

 

She stiffened a little, and Rachel didn’t blame her.

 

Carmen said, “I guess Matt’s voice has recovered,” and indicated the stage, where Matt was currently leaning against Patrick’s piano and hitting every high note in _Forever_ with no apparent effort.

 

“Yeah,” Rachel said. “Patrick said they had it covered and…Patrick’s kind of the type of guy you can trust.”

 

“He is,” agreed Carmen. “See, he would have been a keeper, if he hadn’t already been in love with a rock star.”

 

“Except I push away the things that are good for me,” said Rachel, looking at Carmen.

 

Carmen was not looking at her. She was watching Matt. She said, “Mm-hmm,” in a knowing tone of voice.

 

Rachel said, trying for light and probably missing by a mile, “I kept you around.”

 

“Yeah,” said Carmen, sounding dry and not at all pleased by that.

 

Rachel felt a little bit helpless. “Carmen,” she said. “You’re probably the only good thing I’ve ever really let myself have.”

 

Carmen looked at her then. “You think you _had_ me? What does that even mean?”

 

“Well,” Rachel started, “I mean. Not like—”

 

“Not in any sense of the word have you had me,” Carmen bit out. “Not in any way.”

 

And then Carmen stalked away.

 

That could have gone better, thought Rachel.

 

***

 

Matt was still singing. As Patrick pushed him down onto the bed and crawled onto it after him, he was still singing.

 

“Shh,” Patrick said, laughing, trying to catch his mouth in a kiss.

 

“Oh, it’s you, it’s you, it’s you, it’s you,” Matt sang, slightly wobbly and off-key but Patrick’s weight was crushing his chest, so Patrick forgave him the unsteadiness of his notes.

 

“Give it a rest,” Patrick said, fond, nipping under his jaw.

 

“The things you do to me,” Matt gasped, “the way you feel to me.”  

 

“You’ve ruined me, it’s true,” murmured Patrick, singing it vaguely, and then kissing Matt.

 

“I hit every note, right?” Matt managed around Patrick’s kisses. “It felt like every note. Was it every note?”

 

“It was every note,” Patrick promised him, and it was true. “You hit every fucking note. You were spectacular.”

 

“What a high,” said Matt, as Patrick pinned his hands down. He was practically purring already, Patrick thought, his energy bouncing all over the place, and he looked impossibly smug and pleased with himself, which Patrick allowed was totally deserved.

 

Patrick dipped his head down and whispered into Matt’s ear, “I want to shatter you into pieces and put you back together in my bed.”

 

Matt shivered deliciously under him and breathed out, “It goes both ways, darling.”

 

“Welcome back,” Patrick said, and made him lose his head.

 

 

_Las Vegas_

 

“Okay, boys,” said Lilah on the conference call they were on. “Homestretch, kiddos. How are we holding up?” She peered closely at Patrick, because they both knew that was a Patrick question.

 

“I’m fine,” Patrick said. “I’m absolutely fine.”

 

“He says he’s fine,” Matt said. “Really, I think we did okay.”

 

“Clouds float, but they are weighed down with rain,” said Brie wisely.

 

“Okay,” said Matt, and Patrick’s lips twitched. From behind them in the bedroom part of their bus, the kids were shrieking about whatever card game Matt had taught them. Patrick suspected it was a drinking game that Matt was having them play with heavily milked coffee, because Matt was the worst influence in the entire universe.

 

Patrick said, because someone had to eventually say it, and he knew Lilah and Brie were too uncertain of their status to bring it up, “We want to put another album out.”

 

Lilah and Brie both exhaled loudly.

 

“Oh, thank the Lord,” said Lilah.

 

“Hallelujah,” said Brie.

 

“Brie, our meal tickets have decided to earn their keep once again,” said Lilah.

 

“We need a new management team,” Matt said to Patrick. “Our management team is awful.”

 

Lilah laughed. “Tell us what you want for the deal, and we’ll get it for you.”

 

“We’re going to record in L.A.,” Matt said. “A few sessions. We’ll see how it goes and get back to you on a timeline.”

 

“We’re recording in L.A.?” said Patrick in surprise.

 

“I’ve got a recording studio right in the house,” Matt said. “We’ll just fool around a little bit.”

 

“You’ve got a recording studio right in the house,” Patrick said. “Of course you do. That makes sense.”

 

“Yeah, my house also has all entirely functioning rooms and not a single caved-in floor, it’s kind of remarkable.”

 

“Ha ha,” said Patrick.

 

“You _two_ ,” said Brie, eyes shining suspiciously. “I don’t even have an aphorism for you, I’m just so happy.”

 

“Watch how much we’re not going to fuck it up this time,” said Matt, and Patrick leaned in and kissed his cheek and said, “Tell the record label we’ll do it.”

 

***

 

“Tell the record label we’ll do it,” said Matt, so casually, so blasé, like it wasn’t a knife into Patrick’s gut, like it wasn’t tearing his heart out and neglecting to replace it with anything, like Patrick wasn’t standing there trying to _breathe_.

 

When he got off the phone, he didn’t even _say_ anything. He went back to the game of cards he was playing, completely unconcerned.

 

“What are we doing?” Patrick asked, aiming for casual, for un-heartbroken, and maybe almost getting there.

 

“Oh,” said Matt, as if he’d completely forgotten that Patrick needed to be told of plans. “So there’s this opportunity to collaborate with Zenia and you know I’ve been dying to collaborate with Zenia for forever so—”

 

“Not for forever,” said Patrick calmly. “Zenia wasn’t even a thing until a few months ago. She’s a flash in the pan.”

 

Matt lifted an eyebrow at him. “Okay, that’s a little harsh.”

 

“When is this collaboration thing happening?”

 

“After the tour. It’s so great, we’ve got a few days off and that coincides with when Zenia’s going to be in the studio so—”

 

“Wait a second,” interrupted Patrick. “A few days off before what?”

 

“I don’t know.” Matt frowned. “There was something… Wasn’t Lilah talking about something? There’s something going on. Maybe it’s an awards show or something? Could it be the VMAs? When are the VMAs?”

 

“Matt,” said Patrick, exasperated.

 

Matt gave him a blank look. “What? I don’t even know where we are, never mind what day it is. Do you?”

 

“You said we were going on vacation when the tour was over.”

 

“Oh,” said Matt vaguely. “Right. Yeah. We are.”

 

“We’re collaborating with Zenia when the tour is over.”

 

“Right. Okay. Yes. Okay, after _that_ ,” said Matt.

 

“After that is something-maybe-the-VMAs,” said Patrick, surprised how calm and even he sounded.

 

“Right. Yes. After that.” Matt looked annoyed. “Jesus, Patrick, we’ll go away when we get a chance to go away. The beaches aren’t going anywhere. Zenia and the VMAs, though, they are going places, we can’t just do those any old time, right?”

 

“Right,” said Patrick flatly.

 

“Right,” said Matt, and turned back to his card game.

 

Patrick frowned at him. “Solitaire,” he said.

 

“What?” said Matt.

 

“You’re playing solitaire.”

 

“I… Yes?” offered Matt.

 

“I’m standing right here,” said Patrick.

 

“Oh,” said Matt, surprised. “Did you want to play? Sorry. What do you want to play?”

 

“Nothing,” said Patrick.

 

“Trick,” said Matt.

 

“No,” said Patrick. “It’s fine. I’m going for a walk.”

 

“Patrick. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings by playing _solitaire_ ,” said Matt.

 

Patrick, on his way out the door, laughed and glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah,” he said. “Playing solitaire. That’s what hurt my feelings.” He let the door slam satisfyingly behind him on the way out.

 

***

 

The suite had a bowling alley in it.

 

Patrick stood watching his kids bowl and shook his head at Matt as he came up to him. “Who did you call to get this? This is ridiculous.”

 

“I didn’t call anyone,” Matt denied. “We’re big deal rock stars who deserve bowling alley rooms. Hello, Adam, how are we feeling today, little guy?”

 

Adam, head pillowed on Patrick’s shoulder, squawked unhappily.

 

“Still not a hundred percent,” Patrick said. “How are _you_ feeling?”

 

“We got invited to go VIP to the Lady Gaga show,” said Matt.

 

“Hmm,” said Patrick, as Adam squawked again.

 

“I can take the girls, if you don’t want to go with him. Or I can stay with him if you want to go with the girls.”

 

“You will have much more fun at the concert than I will,” said Patrick. “If you don’t mind taking the girls, that would be okay with me. Is it okay if I stay home with him?”

 

Matt shrugged. “It’s fine. Anna and David and Cora and the kids are coming, so I’ve got plenty of people to foist the kids off on when I get lazy and want a break.”

 

Patrick smiled at him and said, “You really don’t have to do this.”

 

“It isn’t a matter of ‘have to,’” said Matt. “They’ll enjoy it, won’t they?”

 

“They’ll _love_ it,” said Patrick. “But you’ve had the kids all to yourself so much recently, and I feel bad about—”

 

“Hey,” Matt interrupted him, shaking his head, and stepped closer to him. “Trick. Remember when you gave me that whole speech about co-parenting and not being used to it? I think this is what it looks like. Okay?”

 

Patrick took a deep breath and thought how, amazingly, Matt was right. He wasn’t alone. He had _help_. He had _Matt_. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess you’re right.”

 

***

 

Matt was feeling old. He’d been feeling old since the thing with his voice anyway, and he felt even older watching the Gaga show and thinking how the VIP invitation had come with some sort of gushing thing about how she’d “grown up” on Swan songs and Matt loved to hear how he was basically a grandfather in terms of popular music.

 

But the girls were having a blast. They were in absolute awe. Kylie kept asking him about fashion choices and Miranda kept talking about Gaga’s “eye for spectacle” and Hailey kept asking if she was _really_ singing that, did everybody _really sing_ the way Matt did, and the whole thing was worth it for that. Well, and for the fact that Cora knew every single word to every single Gaga song, noteworthy because apparently that was not the case for Swan songs, and David was astonishingly grouchy about it, and Matt was endlessly amused. Meanwhile Anna was off in a corner flirting with Carmen and that was probably why Rachel dropped down next to him and huffed out a breath.

 

“Hello,” Matt said.

 

“How did you get Patrick to pay attention to you?” Rachel asked without preamble.

 

“Voltaire,” said Matt. “I used Voltaire on him. Like the song says.”

 

“What song?” asked Rachel blankly.

 

“Patrick’s song,” Matt said. “You sitting up in bed, disclaiming on Voltaire. That was a snide reference to my pick-up line with him.”

 

“You picked him up with Voltaire? That’s not bad.”

 

“You are literally the only person to ever have thought that. Everyone else just makes fun of me for it.”

 

“I don’t mean your original situation, though,” said Rachel, waving her hand around. “I mean, when you came back, how did you get him to pay attention to you?”

 

“Okay,” said Matt, “first of all, I’m the last person in the universe anyone should ask for relationship advice.”

 

“Why?” challenged Rachel. “Your relationship is fucking perfect. It’s annoying.”

 

“Rachel, we tore each other to pieces for fifteen years. You missed all of that.”

 

“Right, so, after you were done with that, how’d you get him to pay attention to you?”

 

“That’s the thing. I can’t give you advice on this. Patrick is _always_ paying attention to me. When we’re in the same room, he’s watching me, he’s counting my breaths, he… I don’t know what to say about that. Didn’t you feel it, that very first night? We watch each other. We’ve got other people around us now, but we pay attention to each other. I can’t tell you how to get that. We’re just always more aware of each other than any other people.”

 

“Yeah,” Rachel mused, chewing on her lower lip and glancing over at Carmen. “You’re right. That was obvious from the very beginning.”

 

“I didn’t notice it until it was gone,” Matt said.

 

“Didn’t notice what?”

 

“The weight of his regard. Which is such a high-rhetoric way of saying that, but it was like…when he was gone, when I wasn’t being watched anymore, it was like I floated away. I couldn’t find the ground. It was awful. I didn’t always know how much he was paying attention to me, I only noticed it when he left. And then when I had it back again I thought, I’m going to keep it. And so I said that to him. I said, I’m doing it right this time. And that’s really all I can do. I can just try to do it right this time. Because now I know what it feels like to float away. And it’s the worst.”

 

Rachel regarded him thoughtfully. “Is that advice?”

 

Matt admitted, “I have no fucking idea.”

 

***

 

Matt had no fucking idea.

 

He had no idea where Patrick was, and he had no idea why Patrick had gone off, and he had no idea whether Patrick was even going to show up at all, and Matt had not spent a night without Patrick in…too long for his brain to want to calculate.

 

Matt sprawled directly in the middle of the bed, which he could do because his bed was _empty_ , and stared at the ceiling over his head, and let fury grow cold inside of him, because that was much easier to deal with than his other option, which was sheer and utter terror, that something might have happened to Patrick and he was never coming back and Matt was going to have to face the rest of eternity alone.

 

And then Patrick came back.

 

Matt heard the suite’s door open and close, and immediately propped himself up on his elbows in bed.

 

Patrick came into the bedroom and didn’t even _look_ at him. He went straight for the bathroom.

 

Matt dropped back onto the bed, letting the fury fill every ounce of him, now that Patrick had come back and there was no reason for terror.

 

Patrick came out of the bathroom and crawled into bed. And he smelled like…perfume. Matt tilted his head to sniff at him.

 

“Where have you been?” he asked, his voice low and accusatory.

 

“Out,” said Patrick. “I don’t even know. I ran into Ashley. We went to a club.”

 

“You went to a _club_?” said Matt, feeling more hurt than if Patrick had said they’d hooked up. “You never go to clubs with me.”

 

“Because going to clubs with you is a whole _production_ ,” Patrick said. “We’ve got to sign a million autographs and people send us over bottles of champagne and Christ, it’s the worst.”

 

“Yeah, it’s super-hard to be rich and famous and young and attractive,” agreed Matt drily.

 

“I don’t want to fight,” Patrick said wearily. “You have no idea how much I don’t want to fight. I am _so tired_ of fighting with you.”

 

“I don’t even know what we’re fighting about,” said Matt honestly.

 

There was a moment of silence.

 

Then Patrick said, “I don’t know. Sometimes I don’t know, either.”

 

“Patrick,” said Matt, and inched closer to him. “I love you.” And he held his breath, because he’d never grown past his need to hear Patrick say that back.

 

“I love you, too,” said Patrick, on a sigh. “It doesn’t mean I’m not still tired.”

 

“It’s going to be fine,” Matt promised.

 

“How?” asked Patrick.

 

“We’re on top of the world,” said Matt. “There’s nothing that’s _not_ fine.”

 

***

 

The girls came in overflowing with Gaga accolades. Apparently, Lady Gaga put on a _much better show_ than Swan did.

 

“It’s, like, embarrassing, Dad,” Kylie said firmly.

 

“Gaga has _costumes_ ,” Hailey said. “You just throw on whatever.”

 

“She really pays attention to the visuals,” said Miranda. “I don’t think you’ve ever even thought about the visuals.” Miranda frowned at Patrick.

 

“Matt wears suits,” Patrick said, and glanced over at Matt, who was yawning as he dropped to the opposite couch. “That’s a visual.”

 

“She wore _six pairs of angel wings_ ,” said Hailey.

 

“Did she?” Patrick looked over at Matt. “Get on that, Matt.”

 

“Whatever,” said Matt, “our music is _way_ better.”

 

“That’s sexist,” Miranda said. “You only think that because she’s a woman.”

 

“No, he thinks that because he’s Matt Usher and he thinks his music is better than everyone’s. When I met him he told me he had the best band in the world.”

 

“I _do_ have the best band in the world,” said Matt.

 

“Lady Gaga has a lot of really hot dancers,” said Kylie.

 

“Kylie raises a good point, we should have more hot dancers,” said Matt.

 

“It’s bedtime,” Patrick announced, provoking groans. “In fact, it is way _past_ bedtime. Let’s go.” He herded everyone into some kind of bedtime routine, and got everyone tucked into their beds, subjecting himself to continued explanations of how much better Lady Gaga was at giving concerts.

 

When he got back to their bedroom, Matt was sitting with his guitar, his fingers moving absently over a chord progression while he frowned at a piece of paper next to him.

 

“We’re terrible rock stars,” Patrick told him.

 

“So I heard. At length.”

 

For a second Patrick wondered if Matt was annoyed, but then Matt looked up and grinned.

 

“They’re hilarious,” he said. “They’re so distressed. They think we’re putting on boring concerts for everyone. They want acrobats.”

 

“Acrobats would be cool,” said Patrick, dropping onto the bed. “They had a blast. Thank you for bringing them.”

 

“I’m glad they had fun. It was the least I could do after making them go to our boring concerts all the time. Can you imagine me with six pairs of angel wings?”

 

“Very easily,” said Patrick, watching him fondly. He looked light and happy and relaxed, plucking absently at the guitar. Patrick said, “Your throat feels better.”

 

“Fantastic,” Matt said, beaming.

 

“We’re still using the humidifier tonight,” Patrick said.

 

“How’s Adam?” asked Matt.

 

“Fussy. But sleeping now. And maybe he’ll sleep through the night. I don’t know. I hope so. What are you doing over there, anyway?”

 

“This song,” said Matt, and then he leads himself into it with a couple of chords before he starts singing, “It’s no laughing matter, the way I’m short of breath before we even…” Matt drew a breath and exhaled, “Kiss.”

 

“I know this song,” Patrick said. “This is the one you went viral with.”

 

“I really love this song,” Matt said. “For the album. I _love_ this song.” He played another couple of chords, singing, “Every thought just scatters, every inch of your skin is a feast I don’t want to…” Matt met Patrick’s eyes, and didn’t finish the line.

 

Patrick said, “If you’re going to sing the rest of that song, you should do it in bed with me.”

 

“I don’t need to be asked twice,” said Matt.

 

***

 

Matt was feeling effervescent, on top of the world, lighter than air. His throat felt fantastic, the energy of a sold-out Vegas crowd was leaking through backstage, and Patrick was across the room from him, and even though Patrick’s attention was mostly focused on his kids, Matt could feel the weight of his regard, just like he’d told Rachel, and for the first time in a couple of months it slammed into Matt. _Patrick_ was _right there_. This whole thing was an incredible do-over. The record label was waiting for an album, and the crowd out there was shouting for them, and Matt was _light-headed_ with joy.

 

“Okay,” he announced loudly, and leaped up onto the couch, disturbing Cora, who gave him a startled look. “Band meeting!”

 

“Band meeting?” echoed David.

 

“Oh, Christ,” said Anna, “do we have to? I’ve always hated these.”

 

“This is important,” Matt said. “This is an _important meeting_.”

 

Patrick, trying to get a still-fussy Adam to settle down, gave him an amused look from across the room.

 

“First,” said Matt, and spread his arms out so everyone would understand how much he wanted to embrace all of them, “you are all the _best_ , and I am the _luckiest_.”

 

“Is he drunk?” asked Carmen bluntly.

 

“He’s effusive,” Anna said, sounding fond. “When he’s happy, he gets effusive.”

 

“Yes,” said Matt, pointing at her in agreement. “When I’m happy, I’m effusive. And I just want all of you to know that I know Patrick and I wrote _Luck_ and it was assumed to be a song about us—”

 

“It _is_ a song about you,” said Anna.

 

“—but it’s like the motto of my entire life,” Matt said solemnly. “I can’t believe my luck. I did this wrong the first time around and I’m really sorry and I’m going to be really good at it this time. That is a sincere promise. I’m older and wiser and more mature.”

 

“Still not letting you have pyrotechnics during shows, though,” David interjected.

 

“You’re no Lady Gaga,” agreed Anna.

 

“I’m no Lady Gaga,” Matt agreed. “I’m Matt Usher, and we’re Swan, and that’s a way better thing to be. I’ve never wanted anything else.” And he _meant_ it. With every fiber of his being. He’d never wanted anything but Swan, and he knew Patrick thought that meant the fame and the fortune and the girls screaming his name, but no, he’d wanted…a room full of people who made him so happy he was effusive. That was all he’d wanted all along, and he’d thought it ought to be called “fame” and “fortune” and he’d been _so wrong_. He was going to spend the rest of his life not forgetting what he’d wanted all along.

 

He said, “Brie and Lilah are working through contracts. We’ve got a record deal if we want it. Patrick and I have half an album of songs already. We’ve got flexibility and our own schedule. We’ve got each other, and we’ve got Swan, and I think the future looks bright, if that’s what you want.”

 

“Who says no to Matt Usher?” said David after a second.

 

“We’re in, Matthew,” Anna said.

 

“I’m going to conquer the world again,” said Matt grandly, “and I’m going to make it stick this time. Tonight’s concert is going to be fucking spectacular.”

 

***

 

“Tonight’s concert is going to be fucking spectacular,” Matt promised him.

 

“Is it?” asked Patrick.

 

“Yes,” Matt said. “An especially spectacular concert. Just for you.”

 

Like that was what Patrick wanted. A good concert. “Matt,” Patrick said.

 

Matt was dressed for the concert, his suit properly disheveled, his sunglasses already down to obscure his eyes. He looked over at Patrick, expectant, already halfway out the door, his head already out on the concert.

 

Patrick looked at him and thought of the boy who’d quoted Voltaire to him on that night so long ago, slipping out of the dim shadows of the bar to change Patrick’s life, to promise him the world, and he’d delivered tenfold, and Patrick wanted to hold him still and make him understand that Patrick had never wanted any of this. Patrick had wanted _Matt_. Matt had wanted the world. Matt had wanted so much more than Patrick. And Patrick was standing here, abandoned, alone, while Matt went out to the thing he wanted and kept hoping, endlessly, that Patrick was going to love it, too.

 

Patrick could have cried suddenly, at the utter futility of this fruitless, repetitive argument between them. Matt had everything he wanted and Patrick was dragging him down, constantly, and that wasn’t fair to either of them.

 

“Trick?” Matt said, impatient, an eyebrow arching up over his sunglasses.

 

Patrick let his eyes travel over him, from the top of his head to the tip of his polished shoes. Matt Usher, who everyone in the world wanted a piece of, who couldn’t walk outside these days without a couple of bodyguards to hold the paparazzi off, and Patrick thought how once upon a time that had been all his, and they hadn’t gone outside for entirely different reasons than paparazzi-stalking, and Patrick would have swapped all of this for all that they’d had in a heartbeat. Matt Usher, who he loved to distraction, who he was going to miss _so_ much.

 

“Nothing,” Patrick said. “Let’s go have a spectacular concert.”

 

Patrick played the piano carefully, locking every note into his heart. He listened to Matt’s words, washing over him, the sound of his breaths against the microphone in between the notes, the squeak of his fingers over the strings on his guitar. Matt sang _Luck_ , for what felt like the millionth time, and Patrick watched him, watched the way he sang it to everyone else, to the crowd out there who sang it with him. “Can we talk about how you have a special, secret smile that you only use on me,” sang Matt and the crowd. “How you watch me from across the room and your weight of your gaze is addictive.”

 

“Oh, we can’t believe our luck,” sang Matt. “Oh, we can’t believe our luck.”

 

Patrick was supposed to sing that line with him, and Patrick couldn’t bring himself to. Patrick played the piano and listened to Matt, watched him bound around the stage. He noticed Patrick missing his harmony and glanced over at him quizzically, and then winked, and then turned back to the crowd.

 

Patrick sat and played.

 

Patrick took his bows.

 

Patrick let Matt ride his post-show high back to the hotel.

 

Patrick stood in their hotel room and took a deep breath and said, “Matt,” to get him to stop talking for a second.

 

“Yup,” Matt responded, fiddling with plugging his phone in to its charger.

 

“Matt, I’m done.”

 

“Done with what?” asked Matt absently, still not looking at him.

 

“ _Done_ ,” said Patrick.

 

Which made Matt look up at him, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “What?”

 

“I’m done,” repeated Patrick. He couldn’t think of what else to say.

 

“But…done with _what_?” said Matt, bewildered.

 

Patrick just looked at him.

 

“Hang on,” Matt said, and Patrick could hear the annoyance hardening his voice now. “We’re in the middle of a _tour_.”

 

Which, of course, was exactly what Matt would be focused on.

 

“Yeah,” Patrick bit out. “Figure it out.” And then just like that – _just like that_ – he turned and he left.

 

He thought about it a lot afterward. That he just turned and _left_.

 

Matt didn’t even call his name in protest.

 

***

 

Matt felt like it was the best concert of his entire life. He was probably biased but it felt _different_ to him, a sparkle coming off of their music which wasn’t always there. They always played well, but he was conscious of how amazing it was that Anna could hit that downbeat in time with Matt’s voice, that David’s saxophone would curl its way around all of them, that Patrick’s piano was always there in the background, and that somehow together they made _this_ , and Matt was giddy over it in a way he hadn’t been in years, that they could get up on a stage and be Swan, and all these people in front of them _loved_ that.

 

It made perfect sense to him that he finished singing _Forever_ and waited for the applause to die down before licking his lips and saying, “Okay, Vegas. Do you want a treat?”

 

Vegas cheered raucously back at him.

 

“I thought you might. Something told me that you had a reputation for being a city in favor of some good, old-fashioned decadence, right?”

 

The crowd was wild with delight, without even knowing what might be coming. Matt looked over at Patrick, who looked equal parts curious and indulgent.

 

“Okay,” Matt said, smiling at him. “Here we go.” He put his guitar on its stand and abandoned his microphone to walk over to Patrick, who looked at him quizzically while the noise level behind them rose to a crescendo. Matt leaned over Patrick to speak into his microphone, saying, “Move over. Everyone, tell Patrick to make room for me at this piano.”

 

The crowd cheered so loudly that Patrick’s reply was completely drowned out. Matt only heard it because he was right on top of Patrick when he murmured, “What are you up to?”

 

“Don’t hog the piano,” Matt said to him, and sat next to him, nudging him over with his hip. “Okay,” Matt said into the microphone, playing a few runs to warm himself up. “This is a nice piano, Trick. No wonder you keep it for yourself.”

 

Patrick lifted an eyebrow at him, unimpressed, and the camera must have been zoomed in close enough to catch it, because the crowd cheered in reaction.

 

Matt grinned and settled his fingers on the piano keys and cleared his throat and said into the microphone, “Okay, wait, give me a second here, because this isn’t a thing I usually do, so I need a second here.” He considered the keys, considered the words in his head, and then said, “Patrick, you’re looking alarmed. I promise I’ve got this all under control.”

 

Patrick leaned forward to borrow the microphone. “You have no idea what you’re doing,” he said, to laughter and applause from the crowd.

 

“I’ve got a _scheme_ ,” Matt assured him, which got the crowd back on his side. Matt sent them a thumbs-up and said, “I promised you something decadent, so how’s this? We’ve got a new song for you. Do you want to hear it?”

 

Of course the crowd wanted to hear it.

 

Matt grinned and played and sang, “It’s no laughing matter,” and the crowd _recognized_ it, exploded into cheers, and Matt smiled out at them, singing, “the way I’m short of breath before we even…” Matt stopped playing, stopped singing, and breathed into the venue’s sudden silence, “kiss,” and the crowd went wild.  

 

Fucking spectacular concert, Matt thought.

 

***

 

Carmen was watching the concert from sidestage when Rachel came up to her.

 

Carmen said, “They’re on fire tonight.”

 

“I miss the weight of your regard,” Rachel blurted out.

 

Carmen turned her head and looked at her quizzically. “What?”

 

And Rachel didn’t let herself think herself out it. She thought of Matt, and how Matt, once he’d known what he wanted, had just _gone_ for it. Matt, with Patrick in front of him again, had seized his opportunity. Rachel needed to do the same thing.

 

So Rachel kissed Carmen.

 

And it kind of changed her life.

 

***

 

“Okay,” Matt said, “okay, okay, okay. I have an idea.”

 

“You are so stage-drunk,” Patrick told him. “You’re barely sitting upright right now.”

 

“I’m sitting up,” said Matt. “This is important.”

 

Patrick looked at him in amusement. It had been a while since he’d seen Matt ride a high in this particular way. He’d been so off the wall that Patrick had eventually enlisted Anna to sit with the kids so he could get Matt out somewhere to get the excess energy out. He could have tried seducing him but Matt had been too fluttery to even respond to a kiss. So instead he’d taken them to the hotel’s rooftop bar, where they’d been recognized, and Matt had done some signings and selfies and flirted unabashedly, and now they’d been given a VIP table and a bouncer to keep people away. It felt to Patrick like old times, when Matt had always wanted to go out to clubs and they’d had to be hidden in side rooms, but it didn’t fill him with the pang of bitterness or regret it might have. It felt like a good memory that were making better.

 

Patrick said, “I’m listening to you.”

 

“We’re in Vegas.” Matt spread his arm out to make his point.

 

“We are,” Patrick agreed.

 

“We could get married,” Matt said. “Right now. There’s a million places in this town to get married. Do you want to get married?”

 

Patrick stilled. “Matt…”

 

“I know, it’s completely unexpected, but it feels right, like, it’s not a scheme. None of this has been a scheme. I fucked up the proposal completely, I was going to make it so romantic and absurd and over the top to make sure you couldn’t say no, but instead I fucked it up and you could _definitely_ have said no if you didn’t love me so much, and that’s how I know you mean it, you really want to marry me, it wasn’t a scheme, I didn’t manipulate you into it. This isn’t a scheme, either. This is just, like, let’s get Elvis to tell us we’re married.”

 

“That’s not how you want to get married,” Patrick said. “You want the big moment.”

 

“I should have given you a better proposal,” Matt said. “I’m really sorry about that.”

 

“Matt, you gave me the best proposal,” Patrick promised him. “Really, don’t worry about it.”

 

“I’ll come up with a better one in L.A.,” said Matt confidently.

 

“You don’t have to,” said Patrick.

 

“Patrick.” Matt leaned across the table toward him and spoke earnestly. “We can have everything we want. It isn’t Swan. It’s _each other_. We can have each other _and_ Swan. You know that, right? That was really all I ever wanted, it wasn’t this, I didn’t want this without you, it was just that it was the only way I could think to…give you the world. To literally give you the world. I didn’t know… And instead you gave me this _family_ , this perfect— _Patrick_.” Matt looked suddenly choked up, like he was about to cry, an abrupt about-face from his high.

 

“Matt,” Patrick said, and cupped his hand on his cheek. “I keep saying we have to be honest this time around. So here’s my biggest fear. Are you ready?”

 

Matt nodded, leaning into the contact.

 

Patrick said, “I’m terrified you’re going to be disappointed. This tour’s been great and all, but I’m terrified you’re going to wake up six months from now and be bored to tears.”

 

“Patrick.”

 

“So let’s wait. Let’s get married in six months. When I know you’re not bored by the day in and day out of the kids.”

 

“Patrick, the five of you are the least boring things in the entire universe. And your kids hate summer camp, by the way. Fuck summer camp. Let’s take them all over the world every summer. I want to call the album Declaration.”

 

“I wanted to call it Rapport. When you named Charm Offensive, you said I could name the next one Rapport.”

 

“The fourth one,” Matt said. “You can name the fourth one Rapport.”

 

Patrick smiled at him. Then he said, “Are people looking at us?”

 

“Probably.” Matt shrugged. “People are always looking at us. Let’s talk about that. Because I’m not sure what you want from me with that. We’re in the public eye. We’re always going to be. If you…don’t want to do any more albums, or whatever, then that might be different, but you said you were fine with—”

 

“I don’t want to _perform_ ,” Patrick said. “When we’re on stage, fine, whatever, do whatever. But when we’re off-stage, we’re _us_. We’re just us. Whether people are watching us or not. I don’t want to worry if you’re doing something because you’re being Matt Usher. I don’t mind Matt Usher. I love Matt Usher. If I can have Matt the rest of the time. Just Matt.”

 

Matt watched him. “So does that mean, if I want to kiss you right now, I should just kiss you?”

 

Patrick took a deep breath, conscious of the crowd a few feet away from them. It was a huge and enormous step, and it was one that Matt would never have committed to fifteen years ago. Matt, who hadn’t wanted to rock the boat. Matt, who had liked the Schrodinger’s box of their public relationship. Matt, who had thought they could be two different people in two different parts of their life. Matt, who wanted to kiss him right now and merge all their lives together into one.

 

Patrick said, “Kiss me.”

 

***

 

_Seattle_

 

The reaction was instantaneous and huge, and probably they should have thought that through. But Matt had been performance-high and Patrick had been besotted, and when the grainy cell phone footage of the kiss went public, he thought, _Of course, this might be a big thing_ , and then he went to sleep. And getting everyone herded onto buses in the morning was a production as usual, and Patrick thought the cold might be spreading because the girls were grouchy while insisting they were fine, and Matt was hungover from last night’s high, and at any rate it was hours into the day before Patrick’s phone rang.

 

“It’s Lilah,” Patrick said, handing the phone over to Matt.

 

“Tell her I’m taking the day off from being Matt Usher,” said Matt.

 

Patrick answered and said, “He says he’s taking the day off from being Matt Usher.”

 

Lilah snorted. “Yeah, he doesn’t get the luxury the day after he stuck his tongue down your throat in public.”

 

_Oh_ , thought Patrick, and it all came crashing down around him again. “Has that become a thing?” Patrick asked carefully.

 

“ _Patrick_ ,” said Lilah. “What the fuck were the two of you _thinking_?”

 

“That we’re done,” Patrick said calmly. “We were thinking that we’re done. It’s not that _I’m_ done anymore. It’s that _we’re_ done. We’re us, and we’re always us, and that’s the deal we made.”

 

Matt was looking across at him, his head tipped curiously.

 

Lilah, after a moment, said, “Okay, that’s lovely, that’s super-lovely, I’m so happy for the two of you, but, like, a _head’s-up_ would help. Rachel’s going to kill the two of you.”

 

Weird that they hadn’t heard from Rachel, thought Patrick. He just said, “Guess Seattle’s going to have a great concert.”

 

“Do you know how much security we’re going to need to add at the hotel?” Lilah sighed heavily. “Let me get in touch with Rachel and get this handled.”

 

“Sorry, Lilah,” Patrick said, and he meant it. They probably _should_ have warned someone.

 

“Tell Matt he’s so lucky he’s so fucking charming,” said Lilah.

 

Patrick ended the call and looked across at Matt.

 

Matt said, “What was that about?”

 

“You kissed me last night.”

 

“Yes,” said Matt. “We’re doing the no-performative—wait. There are photos?”

 

“We were at a bar, Matt,” said Patrick, opening Twitter and clicking on the #mattrick hashtag.

 

Where the world was currently _exploding_.

 

The photos were grainy and unfocused. There was a huge debate whether they were real or photoshopped. There were testimonials from people who swore they’d been there and Matt and Patrick had been cuddling all night. There were people crowing triumphantly. There were people convinced it was just an act and all for publicity. _Tour almost over, got to stay in the news_.

 

“Oh, fuck,” murmured Matt. “Right. Of course. This is a big thing. Of course. We…should have thought about that.”

 

“Should we have?” asked Patrick, and he waited. He waited for Matt to talk about PR, and record sales, and not offending people. He waited for Matt Usher, Cunning Marketing Strategist, to save their band from their relationship.

 

And instead Matt said, “No. You’re right. That’s exactly what we’re not doing. Fuck all of them.” He took the phone out of Patrick’s hand and tossed it aside. “You know who’s Mattrick? _We’re_ Mattrick. We’re doing whatever we want, because that is _us_. And people like it or they don’t and it doesn’t matter because we’re us, we’re _us_ , and that’s what’s important. We’re taking Mattrick back.”

 

***

 

The hotel was such a zoo that Matt couldn’t get over it. He still vividly remembered Swan’s biggest days, and they hadn’t looked like this. He sat at the window and stared out it, hidden by the tint, looking at news crews falling over each other as they jostled for space.

 

Matt said slowly, “Patrick. What are we going to tell your kids?”

 

“Yeah,” Patrick said, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been wondering.”

 

Patrick looked tired, and Matt was suddenly worried. He remembered other days of Patrick looking tired, and he didn’t like to think of them. He reached for Patrick’s hand and said, “This is okay, right? You don’t regret it, right?”

 

“No.” Patrick squeezed his hand reassuringly. “This is going to blow over. We just need to get through Seattle.”

 

“What do you want to tell the kids?” asked Matt.

 

Patrick considered, and then shrugged. “I don’t know. The truth. As ridiculous as it is.”

 

Matt followed Patrick into the bus’s sleeping quarters, where the kids were holed up on devices.

 

“Huge announcement,” said Patrick. “Matt kissed me last night.”

 

“He kisses you all the time,” said Hailey.

 

“It’s totally gross,” added Kylie.

 

“In public,” Patrick said. “He kissed me in public.”

 

The three girls looked unimpressed. Adam was napping so he had no opinion.

 

“So?” said Kylie.

 

Matt wordlessly opened the curtain on the window, which flooded the room with light, and also seemed to heighten the sound of the news crews outside.

 

The kids rushed to the window.

 

Kylie breathed, “What the fuck.”

 

“Okay,” said Patrick. “Language.”

 

“In fairness to Kylie,” said Matt, “if ever anything called for language, it’s that.”

 

“How are we getting off this bus?” asked Hailey.

 

“This is _amazing_ ,” said Miranda. “Can I film it? I want to film it.”

 

“Are we going to be famous?” said Hailey.

 

“You’re _this_ famous?” said Kylie in disbelief. “You’re this famous that you kissed in public and you caused this?”

 

“Matt’s this famous,” Patrick said.

 

“No,” said Matt. “Mattrick is this famous.”

 

“Fuck,” said Kylie again.

 

“Can I swear, too?” asked Hailey.

 

“No,” said Patrick.

 

“Wow,” said Hailey.

 

Matt’s lips twitched as he stood and looked out the window with them. He said, “I want all of you to know there’s no one I’d rather weather paparazzi with than all of you.”

 

***

 

They ended up, after a huddled consultation, covering the girls’ heads and sweeping them through the crowd, with help from hotel security. Matt and Patrick kept their heads down and made no comment. They didn’t hold hands because Patrick’s arms were both tight around Adam, who was clinging to him in terror.

 

“Okay,” Matt said, when they got through and were in the room, “it isn’t always going to be like that.”

 

“That was ridiculous,” said Miranda breathlessly.

 

There was a knock on the door, and Matt opened it for Anna.

 

“Your phones are off,” Anna said immediately.

 

“Yeah, that was necessary,” said Matt. “We’re having a day.”

 

“You think?” said Anna. “Understatement of the _century_. Have you watched the _news_?”

 

“We’re just a random has-been rock band,” Patrick said. “This is ridiculous.”

 

“It’s a slow news day,” said Anna. “And also, mostly, everyone’s happy for you. It’s happy news. Let people enjoy their happy news. How are you two doing?”

 

“Fine,” Patrick said, and sounded truthful about it.

 

Matt smiled and said, “Fine. We’re taking Mattrick back.”

 

“What’s that mean?”

 

“ _We’re_ Mattrick.”

 

“You’re just saying random truthful statements now,” said Anna.

 

“Hey, have you seen Rachel? She’s been kind of absent all day.”

“So has Carmen,” remarked Anna, with a smirk. “Of all days for them to choose to figure themselves out, they chose the day you decided to finally go public.”

 

***

 

Rachel showed up late, wind-blown, and swearing.

 

“It’s literally the second-to-last city!” she exclaimed. “You couldn’t have waited until my job was done?”

 

“Nope,” said Matt cheerfully. “We wanted to make sure you earned your salary.”

 

“It’s a _disaster_ ,” said Rachel. “Do you know how many press requests I’ve been fielding?”

 

“Oh, is that what they’re calling it these days?” asked Matt.

 

Rachel blushed. “Stop it.”

 

“Leave her alone,” Patrick said easily, and then, “It’s fine. Turn them all down. We’re not doing this in the press. Not now, at any rate. Maybe later. Right now, we’re just being us.”

 

“I want the VIP meetings canceled for tonight,” Matt said. “We’ll give them some special signed merch or whatever but we’re not dealing with the VIP questions we’re going to get tonight. We’re just going to show up and we’re going to do a concert.”

 

“That is fair enough,” said Rachel.

 

And when they had a plan of attack, and she left, Matt looked across at Patrick, and Patrick started laughing, which made Matt start laughing, and then they couldn’t stop. The girls came out and stared at them and said, “What’s so funny?”

 

“Our _lives_ ,” said Patrick. “Don’t you think they’re hilarious? It was a kiss between two middle-aged guys. It wasn’t even a _good_ kiss.”

 

“Wow,” said Matt.

 

“I mean, Matt, let’s be honest.”

 

“I wasn’t going for a particularly good kiss,” said Matt. “I didn’t know it was going to be the kiss heard ‘round the world.”

 

“This is so gross,” said Kylie on a sigh.

 

***

 

Sean said, “This has been a very exciting day.”

 

Matt laughed at him and said, “Go warm the crowd up for us.”

 

“They do not need any warming up,” Sean said, and it was true that the venue felt electric.

 

Matt went and warmed up his voice while Sean’s band played, walking up and down the hallways, and eventually coming across Patrick, who was waiting for him.

 

“You sound good,” Patrick said.

 

“It’s nice and wet in Seattle,” said Matt. “My throat likes it here.”

 

Patrick smiled at him. Patrick took his hand. Patrick pulled him in. Patrick kissed him. “I want you to know,” he said, his hands cupped around Matt’s head as he nibbled at his lips, “I do not regret a single second of this. I’d let you kiss anytime, anywhere, whenever you want. And let the world be astonished that you love me as much as you do. Because I’ve been trying to get over it for twenty years.”

 

“ _Patrick_ ,” said Matt, and let himself kiss him senseless.

 

***

 

The crowd was so loud he could barely hear himself singing _Wild Ride_ , and he was trying to get the sound guy to fix the levels in his earpiece as he stumbled over Patrick’s piano cues, and finally he said, “Fuck it,” and pulled out his earpiece and shouted into the microphone, “I can’t hear myself over you guys, so you need to help me out and sing along,” and they did, because Swan audiences were the _best_ , thought Matt fondly, and when the song was done the applause devolved into a _Mattrick! Mattrick!_ chant.

 

Matt shook his head and looked over at Patrick and said, “Hey, Trick.”

 

The crowd went _ballistic_. Matt winced. Behind him, David was having some kind of consultation at the side of the stage with one of the sound guys, but Matt had no idea how they were going to make any sense of the levels in the building at the moment.

 

Patrick said deadpan into the microphone, just as the crowd died down a bit, “Good evening, Matthew,” which provoked another avalanche of cheers.

 

Matt actually staggered back a little, shaking his head at them, and thought they weren’t going to get a concert at all if they didn’t quiet down a little bit. He made a downward motion with his hand, then put his fingers to his lips, which the screens to either side of him broadcast out to the crowd.

 

Who obeyed.

 

And Matt could have sung a song then, he really could have, he could have used the lull to pick up a cue, but instead he leaned toward his microphone with a grin and said, “Anything interesting going on in your life, Patrick?”

 

Which absolutely shattered the quiet. Matt stepped back, grinning, and flipped a middle finger at Anna when she cymbal-crashed at him.

 

Patrick said into his microphone, “Same old, same old.”

 

The crowd was not dying down.

 

Matt said, “Tell me about it. Our lives are deadly dull.”

 

***

 

It was deadly dull, this life without Patrick.

 

At first, Matt had thought Patrick must be joking. He’d stared at the closed door with his jaw hanging open, and waited for Patrick to come back. And waited. And waited.

 

Patrick didn’t come back. _Patrick didn’t fucking come back_. He forced Matt to _cancel a fucking concert_ , which was _inexcusable_ , to throw a tantrum like this and cancel a concert. Anna and David were trying to talk to Matt about what was happening, but Matt just canceled the concert and went back to his room and drank into oblivion. He canceled the next concert and did the same thing. He did _not_ call Patrick, because what the _fuck_.

 

On the day he canceled the rest of the tour, Matt went out and found the first person who looked interested and took them back to the hotel room he was supposed to be sharing with Patrick and fucked their brains out.

 

He didn’t feel better.

 

If he was going to admit that he felt terrible.

 

Which he didn’t want to admit.

 

But the fact was that the longer this absurdity spun out, the more…unreal it felt to him. This was his life, but he couldn’t believe it. He was _living_ it, and he couldn’t believe it. He’d stood on stage and accepted a Grammy, he’d listened to tens of thousands of people shouting his words at him, he’d been so hounded at a restaurant that he’d had to eat in the kitchen, but he had never felt this sense of utter unreality. He couldn’t shake it. This couldn’t be happening. Any minute Patrick was going to walk through the door and he was going to get out of this terrible universe where nothing made sense and there was no Patrick.

 

Any minute now.

 

And then Lilah said, “Patrick got married.”

 

She said it slowly, hesitantly, like she didn’t know how Matt was going to react.

 

Matt was standing on the balcony of his bedroom in L.A. He didn’t know how to react either. He heard the words and tried to make them make sense. _Reality_ , he thought. _This is reality_. How fucking long had this been going on, that Patrick had had time to get married? Matt felt like he’d walked out the day before. But Matt was back in California, Matt had canceled an entire tour, Matt had Lilah and Brie negotiating their way out of Swan’s remaining contracts, Christ, for all Matt knew he’d been living this way for years and it just felt like the same day, over and over, and he wasn’t noticing.

 

Matt said, “Who did he marry?”

 

“Ashley,” Lilah said.

 

And Matt laughed. Matt laughed until he sank to the floor of the balcony and realized he was actually crying.

 

Lilah was still on the phone with him.

 

Matt took a deep breath and said calmly, “Can you buy me a house?”

 

Lilah said, “You have a house.”

 

Matt looked off to the side of the balcony, at the rest of this house, rambling and ramshackle, a house Patrick had wanted to fix up, because that was how Patrick was.

 

Matt said, “Not this house. I don’t want this house. Buy me something brand new. All white. Nothing soft. All hard edges.”

 

“Matt,” said Lilah after a second.

 

“Thanks, Lilah,” said Matt. “You’re the best.”

 

 

 

_Los Angeles_

 

Matt’s house was all white, nothing soft, all hard edges.

 

The kids and Bach seemed to love it, bounding all over it, racing up and down its huge empty galleries, but Patrick stood in the foyer and _ached_. He hadn’t expected Matt to stay in the house they’d chosen together, but he also hadn’t expected Matt to pivot so fully away from him.

 

Matt said, “The kids are going swimming. Did you bring stuff for Adam to go swimming?” and took Adam out of Patrick’s arms. And then he said, “Trick,” a little confused at his silence.

 

And then Patrick said thickly, “Fuck, Matt, I am _so sorry_ ,” and pulled Matt in for a hard kiss.

 

“Dad, hurry up, Matt says we can’t swim without supervision,” Hailey complained, dashing past in her bathing suit.

 

“It’s okay,” Matt whispered, and brushed his nose against Patrick’s. “It’s really okay. We’ll pick out a new one together.”

 

Patrick nodded. And while Matt supervised the swimming, Patrick wandered through the house. Most of the rooms were virtually empty. They were stunningly decorated, with artwork Patrick was sure was worth small fortunes, but none of them felt even a little bit like Matt. Even his bedroom, when he found it, was decorated in a stiff and formal style that felt like a hotel room, like Matt had barely spent a second in it.

  
The only room Patrick came upon that felt lived in was the room with the piano, which was on the top floor, with a commanding view of Los Angeles. The piano was a pretty and well-loved Steinway baby grand, which Matt had always had a weakness for, perfectly tuned even though Matt hadn’t been in the house in months. Sheet music was scattered everywhere, written over with Matt’s notations. Patrick sat and played some of it thoughtfully.

 

Matt found him when the sun was setting behind them. “Hey,” he said. “We’ve got to get ready to go. We’ve got this whole concert thing to do tonight.”

 

“I know,” said Patrick. “You gave me the impression you stopped writing.”

 

“What?”

 

“Music. You gave me the impression you stopped writing music, sometime over the last fifteen years. But this is the only room in the entire house that has _you_ in it.” Patrick gestured to the sheet music.

 

Matt glanced at it, then said, “It’s not good music.”

 

“It’s not bad.”

 

“Who was I writing music for? It seemed absurd.”

 

“We can use this,” said Patrick.

 

Matt said, “I broke up with you. And I broke up with Swan. But I never broke up with the piano. That’s what I never got about Rachel. How could she break up with the _piano_. It felt like the only piece of me I kept.”

 

Patrick ran his finger along the piano and said, “I’m glad you kept it. I am going to fuck you on this piano until you forget every sad moment you ever spent in this room.”

 

Matt smiled and said, “Let’s destroy the thing and start fresh. I want an old piano at the new place. An old piano with an A3 key that sticks.”

 

“We should have it in our room. The piano, I mean. Let’s make sure the bedroom’s big enough for a piano.”

 

“We should have many pianos,” Matt said. “Pianos for sex toys, pianos for composing, pianos for teaching Hailey on.”

 

“Music,” Patrick said. “Music everywhere.”

 

“Let’s go play a concert, Trick,” Matt said.

 

***

 

The next day, Anna took Miranda to dye her hair purple. Kylie went off with a group of her old friends to catch up. Hailey got herself invited to the birthday party of a former playmate. They left Adam with Mrs. Honeycutt.

 

And Matt sulked a little by the piano. “See, we are wasting perfectly good piano-fucking time.”

 

“Matt,” Patrick said, amused.

 

“Let me call and cancel,” Matt said, “and then you can defile me on this piano.”

 

“Let’s go meet your friends,” Patrick said.

 

“Wouldn’t you rather defile me on this piano?” asked Matt, fluttering his eyelashes at him.

 

Patrick said, “Yes. Any day. But I don’t want your friends to think I keep you locked up. Plus, I want to make sure I hear as many embarrassing stories about you on-set as possible.”

 

“There aren’t any embarrassing stories about me on-set,” said Matt, and relented.

 

In truth Patrick was a little nervous about meeting Matt’s fellow reality-show judges, and he would have let Matt talk him into having sex instead, but at the same time he thought he needed to get to know this part of Matt’s life. He’d immersed Matt in the life Patrick had spent the past fifteen years building, it was only fair.

 

But for all Patrick thought he was going to be intimidated by Matt’s Hollywood friends, they were ridiculously kind and down-to-earth and they didn’t really tease Matt, and Patrick was so pleased by that. They clearly just _liked_ Matt, even though Matt seemed a little wary of that fact, like he expected there to be some catch. But they were obviously vetting Patrick’s worthiness, and Patrick _so_ approved, he felt like someone should be looking out for Matt and making sure he was good enough. Lilah would, of course, and Anna, too, but this was still just _nice_.

 

Steph-B said, “I suppose you’ll be guest-starring constantly on the next season, eh, Patrick?”

 

“I don’t know,” said Matt. “I’m still up in the air on the next season.”

 

“I will be haunting the set,” Patrick said jovially. “You won’t be able to get rid of me.”

 

And Matt looked at him and smiled.

 

“Look, I got you a gift,” said Cassidy, and thrust it at Matt.

 

It was a t-shirt, in a deep turquoise blue, with _#mattrick_ scrawled across it in glitter.

 

Matt stared at it in horror.

 

Patrick started laughing. “Where did you _get_ this?”

 

“They’re selling them online,” said Cassidy. “They are _everywhere_. Proceeds are going to charity, by the way, so I felt like it was all for a good cause.”

 

“Well, that’s spectacular,” said Patrick. “I wish I had one.”

 

“You’d never wear this,” Matt said.

 

“I’d make Kylie wear it,” said Patrick.

 

Matt laughed. “Okay, true.”

 

“I wasn’t sure what your sense of humor would be like, Patrick,” said Cassidy. “I’ll order one for you now.” She already had her phone out.

 

“No,” said Patrick. “Really not necessary.”

 

“Already done,” said Cassidy, triumphant.

 

“You really can’t stop her once she sets her mind to something,” said Jeremy.

 

Matt said, “What the fuck am I going to do with a Mattrick t-shirt?”

 

***

 

The answer was he wore it on stage. It was the first concert he’d played in many years where he wore jeans and a t-shirt. The # _mattrick_ sparkled on his chest and the crowd went wild for it, even though Matt didn’t reference it at all.

 

When he was done singing _Forever_ , though, before Patrick launched into _Trick Up Your Sleeve_ , he paused and said, “Patrick?”

 

And Patrick said, “Darling?” without thinking.

 

The crowd didn’t go wild. It _aww_ ’d.

 

Matt smiled at him and said, “Play us your love song.”

 

***

 

The last concert of the tour. When it was over, they had a few days in L.A. before they flew back out to get ready for school, and ordinary life, and all the boring things Patrick was still worried Matt would balk at. Matt, who lived life in this incredible otherworldly L.A. house.

 

“But it’s not me,” Matt pointed out. “You keep saying it’s not me.” He hooked his chin on Patrick’s shoulder and looked out at the view with him. “I miss your ocean.” He kissed Patrick’s shoulder. “I can’t wait for the rest of our lives.”

 

Patrick smiled. “Me, too. You know a thing we’ve never discussed yet?”

 

“What?”

 

“Do you want to have a baby?”

 

Matt laughed. “Sadly, I don’t have the right equipment for this discussion.”

 

“I’m serious. I had a bunch of babies. Did you want one?”

 

“I have yours,” Matt said. “I’m fine.” He paused, probably picking up on Patrick’s thoughts. “Did you want to have another baby?”

 

“I don’t know,” said Patrick. “I keep thinking of how much I’d love a baby with your dark eyes. You’ve got all these little redheads clustered around you, and I’d love a baby that was…you. A version of you I could absolutely spoil.”

 

Matt leaned against Patrick and was silent for a long time. Then he said, “I have literally never in my life thought about having a baby.”

 

Patrick smiled and kissed his temple. “Think about it, darling.”

 

***

 

Patrick had played a concert once before in his life that he tried to freeze into his memory. That had not been for good reasons. This one he tried to freeze into his memory for every good reason. This was the end of their beginning, he thought. This was when the good part started.

 

Matt was singing his heart out, going for it. He didn’t need his voice again for a while, so he wasn’t holding back. He was drawing out every note, pushing at the edges of his range. The crowd, knowing it was getting their last show, was exuberant but more reverent than they had been, more quiet during Matt’s speech interludes.

 

Patrick played a version of _Trick Up Your Sleeve_ that was absurdly raucous, and then he brought down the house by launching into an improvised version of _It’s Just a Lot_ , the new song he and Matt had been fooling around with.

 

Matt was surprised and then charmed, and then said, “Okay, okay, Patrick had a trick up his sleeve with that one, but Patrick is not the only one who can write new music. Let me steal a few minutes before _Luck_ here.” Matt fiddled with his guitar, settling into place.

 

Patrick cocked his head, watching him.

 

And then Matt cleared his throat and said into the microphone, “Okay. So. This is for Patrick. Who said we should be ourselves. A radical idea I never thought to try, really.”

 

The crowd was silent, waiting. So was Patrick. And then Matt sang.

 

_I thought we had a once upon a time_

_A fairy tale sort of algorithm_

_But I feel like I’d rather have this reality we’ve stumbled on_

_Now that we’ve found the way to our rhythm_

_The happy ever after always seemed like it was_

_The riddle destined to perpetually flummox_

_But we’ve got melodies and lyrics glowing in between us_

_That make me feel like we have the key to this particular paradox_

_So if you_

_Love me_

_I’m standing here with arms wide open, hoping you’ll believe_

_That I_

_Love you_

_If you’re a trick, I’ve got an open sleeve_

_There is no stage I’d want to be on_

_Without you there behind me and slightly to my right_

_Counting every breath I take as we cast the spell we make_

_And find a way to set a sky alight_

_So if you_

_Love me_

_I’m standing here with arms wide open, hoping you’ll believe_

_That I_

_Love you_

_If you’re a trick, I’ve got an open sleeve_

_The thing about a silver tongue_

_Is how quickly it can tarnish_

_The thing about a shiny surface_

_Is how quickly it needs varnish_

_The thing about you and me, though_

_Is how we make each note gleam_

_We polish each other into something better_

_We’re greater together than we otherwise might seem_

_So if you_

_Love me_

_I’m standing here with arms wide open, hoping you’ll believe_

_That I_

_Love you_

_If you’re a trick, I’ve got an open sleeve_

Matt paused, stilling his fingers on the guitar, and sang a capella,

_You’re the love of my life_

_You have been all along_

_I don’t know how to tell you_

_I’ll probably put it in a song_

 

And then he stepped back from the microphone, putting his head down in a small bow, and the venue _erupted_.

 

Patrick sat behind the piano, completely stunned, unsure what to do. _His love language_ , he thought. That was Matt’s love language. Music. It was how he said, again and again, how much he loved him. And he’d given him _that_.

 

Suddenly Anna’s drums started up, and Patrick realized he’d missed a cue somewhere, and they were playing _Luck_ before he was ready, before he’d had time to process, and he watched Matt work the crowd through _Luck_ , and suddenly, suddenly, suddenly, Patrick realized that this, right here, was the last moment. Matt wanted to call the new album Declaration, Patrick thought.

 

And he scraped back from his piano and strode purposefully across the stage to Matt, who looked up at him in surprised, in the middle of singing about their luck, and then Patrick kissed him.

 

Probably there was applause. Patrick wasn’t sure. He was aware that Anna laughed but kept up _Luck_ ’s drumline, while David improvised on the saxophone.

 

Matt broke the kiss, turned his head away, and shouted into the microphone, “Good night, Los Angeles!” And then he said, “Mic drop,” and let it fall to the stage.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Epilogue

 

They were married on the beach, on a Tuesday in December, when it was freezing cold and no one would have expected it. That was Matt’s idea, this stealth attack wedding. They got everyone there who they would have wanted to be there, and they huddled in the cold for a quick ceremony. They didn’t make the six months Patrick had asked for, because by October Patrick had realized six months wasn’t necessary. _No_ time was necessary. They should have gotten married in Vegas that night. But he was happy with their quick beach ceremony, with the way that Matt’s eyes were impossibly bright in the brittle winter sunshine. No sunglasses, and not even a suit. He wasn’t Matt Usher. He was Matt, the Matt Patrick had met that night so long ago and never wanted to let go.

 

They used their songs for their vows, trading lyrics back and forth to each other, and it was perfect. And when the quick ceremony was over, they went into town, where they’d booked the entire hotel where they’d played their first music together in fifteen years, and they took turns on the piano, trading off with their musical friends, and Matt’s fellow reality judges had prepared a whole _thing_ for them, and Sean played the song that his band had just hit the top ten with, and Hailey played a primitive version of _Luck_ very beautifully.

 

Matt’s idea for a honeymoon was an Airbnb he’d found, a studio apartment with a beat-up upright piano, and Patrick sat at it and said, “I’ve got a love song for you.”

 

Matt, within grabbing distance on the bed, smiled and said, “I think you’ve got a million of them, don’t you?”

 

“Yes,” said Patrick, smiling, “but this one I wrote just for you, as a wedding present.”

 

And then he sang.

 

 

 

 

_The end._

 

 

 

 

_ Patrick’s Vows _

_When you’re too tired to sleep,_

_Come here and I will keep_

_You warm_

_When you’re feeling helter-skelter_

_I will be your shelter_

_In every storm_

_I should have said it long ago_

_It’s you that sets my heart aglow_

_You’re my only_

_And, my love, I guarantee_

_That I’ll be here so you’ll never be_

_Lonely_

_A thing I should have said_

_It’s been living in my head_

_It’s overdue I said it to your face_

_I’d marry you a million times_

_A billion ways, a trillion rhymes_

_Darling, simply name the time and place_

_It’s a thing I should have said_

_It’s been living in my head_

_I should have shouted it from the start_

_I’d marry you a million times_

_A billion ways, a trillion rhymes_

_I’ll love you, until death do us part_

 

_And I will be the one you kiss_

_Before every frantic encore_

_And I will be the one you collapse to_

_When you can’t do it anymore_

_And you will be the one I curl into_

_When the world’s too much to handle_

_And the one who makes me laugh_

_At a tabloid’s idea of scandal_

_I cannot imagine a morning without you in my bed_

_I want every run-on sentence in your overactive head_

_I want today, tomorrow, forever, and every scheme you can contrive_

_I’d marry you a million times,_

_A billion ways, a trillion rhymes,_

_I’ll love you every day of our lives_

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. I don't much like to do casting for my original stuff, partially because in my head they never look like any person I know. But I had the startling experience of realizing that the lead singer of Graveyard Club is probably the closest I've heard to the way Matt sounds in my head, especially when he lifts up into his upper register. So, for what it's worth, if someone said they wanted to make this into a movie and who would I cast, probably all I would suggest is this guy do the vocals: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IAq4-iq3hao

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Can't Believe My Luck](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15858165) by [QueenThayet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenThayet/pseuds/QueenThayet)
  * [How I Met Your Father](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16071497) by [QueenThayet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenThayet/pseuds/QueenThayet)




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